Rogue Magick: the Return of Nightfrost
by macDhai
Summary: New chapter up! Continuing the story of Nightfrost, Firesworn and the cast of Rogue Magick. guy/guy, guy/girl. Also blood, violence, sex, alcohol and foul language, all the interesting stuff but trying to keep to the site's T rating, sort of
1. Do You Love Him?

**Rogue Magick: the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Continuing the story of Nightfrost, Firesworn and the cast of Rogue Magick. Rough draft 5/27/10

Part 1: Do You Love Him?

"Burn my body to ash," the dying sin'dorei choked out, the words almost lost in the spate of blood.

It was a slight variant of the Plaguelands' battlecry, "Burn the bodies to ashes!" Any who had fought the Scourge or spent time in the Plaguelands knew what it meant, burn the enemies' bodies, burn your comrades' bodies if they fell, do as much to deny the Lich King more fodder for his army as possible.

Firesworn's howl was full of fury and madness, "No, not you too!"

_Oh, hells! No, my love, I'm not leaving you again,_ Tal said to the frantic mage, to himself and to the dying elf. _Boy, I need your body as intact as possible, burning it isn't happening._ He shook his head in annoyance, knowing he had to take action before the elf bled out. _So much for waiting patiently, you'd better be worth this . . ._

I was standing in my room, drinking a cup of tea and staring absently into the mirror. I had no idea what I'd just been doing or how long I'd been standing there.

_Do you love him?_ A red-eyed shadow of an almost transparent elf appeared beside me in the mirror.

I started so violently I spilled my tea all over.

A smile curved lips drawn in crystal. Or ice. He was beautiful. And terrifying.

There was no one, transparent or otherwise, standing beside me, but there was undeniably something very cold there for the teacup was steaming when the remaining liquid it held had only been warm. I could feel the chill radiating from the spot.

The ghostly red eyes met mine with obvious amusement and certain urgency. _All mirrors are doorways. But I asked you a question. _

"Why should I tell you, whoever you are?" I answered aloud. "How are you doing this? And why?"

_Because I _do_ love him, in my way, and you're dying. You're close enough to hear and see me just a bit already, and your mind is trying to make sense of things that make very little sense when you're still mortal. And the first answer answers why. _

Dying?

Abruptly, I remembered.

King Varian, in a murderous rage over Bobby Twoknives' presence, accusing Grandmamma and Richelle and Stef and all his SI-7 cell of being traitors, Thrall and Jaina Proudmoore and others I didn't know, and all of us in much too small a space. Firesworn protecting Bobby in that fearless decidedly-non-mage way of his by stepping between them, the Alliance king perfectly willing to go through the mage to kill the once-Defias rogue. Nevermind that Bobby had probably been about five when Tiffin Wrynn was murdered.

And myself, shadowstepping between them, just as Firesworn had put himself in the way of that blade, so I protected him. The shadowstepping would have been pain enough, but then I stopped the king in the only way I could without killing him, by catching his blade with my body and pinning it, hoping that would be enough for someone to stop him or talk sense into him. Stunning them all with a vision of happened at the Wrathgate as I had seen it and felt it that terrible, unforgettable day, my only magick beyond what any rogue can call. And Giselle, screaming.

Fire in my chest and not being able to breathe and – And being here, in what seemed to be my room, talking to . . . someone?

_You care. You care for all of them, most especially Firesworn and the girl. But do you _love_ him?_

"I put myself between him and the damn crazy gladiator king of Stormwind."

_Dying heroically is always a nice touch. _"Stupid, but a nice touch. Do you love him, Sky Nightfrost?" His voice was clearer, not just in my head anymore. There was a haze in the air next to me, like an ice fog above a warm stream, except it took an elven form and had red eyes. The image in the mirror was clearer too; one of my kin, pale and dark-flamed of hair, but the eyes meeting mine there were pupil-less orbs the color of blood.

"I never had the chance to find out, okay?" I argued with the voice of this strange ghostly sin'dore. "I wanted him, dreamed about him, but I never got to know him outside the months we spent in the Stockades. All I know is I would die rather than see him cut down in front of me."

Those red eyes were getting clearer and brighter in the haze beside me, the flesh going from transparent to translucent like the aurora. It was very like a dream, a very disturbed dream.

"Well, you're working hard on doing just that; what a waste of blood," he said, looking at something on the floor or beyond it. "Well, not that I need it anymore, but your body does. One last question then. Do you want to find out enough to live?"

Make a wish. What is the one thing you truly want, as you know you're dying, despite or in spite of all the weird tricks your mind plays on you as it happens?

"Hell yes." More even than living, I wanted to know if the promise I'd seen in Firesworn's eyes was real.

Abruptly the other elf vanished from the mirror and was very solid and truly standing beside me in the room, though I suspected my mind was just spinning one last very odd dream.

He slashed down the length of a vein with a finger that was also a claw and held it to my lips. I could see the wound, see the blood within refusing to flow.

"What?"

"I am, I was San'layn, this is easiest way for me to visualize it in the hurry that we're in. Drink. Or die." He shrugged indifferently; looking at me with those amused red eyes and smiled more widely, baring fangs. "I'll have your mortal body either way. I've been dead before and I'm enough of a necromancer even like this I can step in whether or not that fool healer keeps working on you. So," he shrugged again, "we can share or I'll just take it once your soul floats loose in another moment." He smiled like the thought pleased him, but added, "If you choose to go to the Light, you'll never know what might have been."

I pondered that for only a moment, aware the dream had gone from mere strangeness into nightmare. Then I put my lips to his wrist, covering the wound and gave it a deep, sucking kiss like drawing out poison. Suddenly there was liquid in my mouth, but it might as well have been water for all the taste it had. But it was cold and good like spring water and a mana potion in the chill air of Northrend. This I wanted to drink, rather than spit out as I'd expected. I drank, then drank more and finally there was a taste, like fire and sex and blood. Mana flooded my nearly emptied system, silencing my arcane-addicted body's need. And then the San'layn's body desiccated into ashes on my lips, startling the hell out of me.

_Hold on to yourself then_, his voice said, very clear and very clearly from inside my head, _cause this is going to hurt like hell._

Sky Nightfrost took a terrible wrenching, choking breath and began coughing up blood from his lungs, like a near-drowned man coughing up water.

"Light be praised, we've got him back, somehow," the dwarven healer cheered, obviously surprised at the rally of someone he'd thought had already bled out all over the floor. He poured another healing potion directly into the terrible chest wound before beginning a spell. Firesworn held Nightfrost cradled against his chest, whispering something frantically in Thalassian, too low to be heard by anyone but the elf in his arms. Bloody pieces of leather armor and cloth were thrown all around them.

"Lo'gosh?" said Bobby to the king of Stormwind in the lull, his bright mad voice shaken to something like sanity by the near deaths of both men he considered his only true friends.

The king and former gladiator looked up from watching the healer work.

Jaina made an annoyed hiss, but both men ignored her.

The one-time Defias rogue took a single step away from the others and knelt, sliding his knives across the floor to the king's feet. "I surrender," he said simply. He bowed his head and put his hands behind his back, clearly expecting to either be executed on the spot or clamped in chains. "Firesworn," he told the sin'dorei mage, "don't interfere. This is what I want. What I deserve," he added more softly.

"Bobby?" the sin'dore mage's head jerked up, pale face splashed with Nightfrost's blood, his green eyes far too wide and shocky.

"My choice, Firesworn. Take care of him, he's going to need you," said the rogue, still looking at nothing but the pattern of the wood grain in the floor, bright with specks of elven blood.

"My lords and ladies," said the Alliance healer, recovering a moment before another casting, "whatever you're going to do, I'm trying to save a man's life here and I'd appreciate it if you didn't get any more blood on my patient. _Or make me any more_."

"No need to worry, Micah," said Varian Wrynn, his voice much calmer than it had been. "We'll keep out of your way. Scout Twoknives, I'll expect your report on the Wrathgate battle in an hour. Jaina, you can stop watching me. Do what you can to help save that boy. I'll be at the inn. Let me know if he pulls through."

And the king of Stormwind left the room, taking some of the extraneous humans with him.

Bobby sank back on his heels, glancing around the room. He was obviously looking for anyone else who had a grudge against him, confused and somewhat put out. "La, de, dah. La, de, dah, just like that? He leaves? Isn't someone going to execute me?"

Thrall chuckled. "You're a scout of the Alliance. I believe your king's command takes precedence. Healer Micah, if I might offer aid?"

Through the pain, a deep rich voice asked, "Spirit, do you want to return to life?"

Speaking in accord, two spirits intricately twined about each other answered, "Yes."

"What? Two of you?"

"We are bound together of our own choice. And we choose life."

"Well then," the voice seems to ponder this information. "There is no demon taint to either of you. There is necromancy, but not like any I've dealt with before."

The voice fell silent, pain continued; pain and memories from two lives now jumbled together like a child's box of toys.

"Necromancy, but I can find no harm in it, outside of what you have done to yourselves," the rich deep voice announced. "Here is your pathway, return if you will."

Sky coughed harder, spitting out blood and clots of blood. Thrall was talking with a spirit of the air, while Micah Stonebreaker held the elf, encouraging him. "Come on, lad. That's it. We've got to get all that rotten blood out of there or it will kill you as sure as if I'd just let you choke to death."

"It was just . . . all running out . . . hurts . . . wouldn't have choked," the elf complained weakly.

"Another half an inch, two at the most," said the dwarf gruffly, "and you wouldn't be feeling anything. 'Course, wouldn't have mattered, 'cause it would have cut right through your heart as well. What the hell possessed you to get in front of his blade?"

"Had to stop him. Didn't want . . . to be . . . thought assassin. Don't need . . . another . . . war, but . . . wasn't any other . . . way."

The priest cast another spell and the young elf's breathing eased a little more as more things knit back together inside him. Thrall finished speaking with the spirit and another glow settled around the elven scout.

He sighed, a faint flush of color back in his face, and coughed hard again, convulsing and bringing up a lot of blood and tiny pieces of what looked suspiciously like crushed bone. Firesworn shifted and helped brace him, while Micah helped from the other side, pleased to see there wasn't a spate of fresh blood in what the elf coughed out. Another glow and this time when he coughed, what came out looked more like dirty bloodstained water than anything else. Another cough and the water ran clean. Eyes closed as he leaned back in the mage's arms, barely aware, but breathing much easier.

Firesworn hugged him gently, still whispering encouragement and nonsense in his ear.

"We'll take him to Orgrimmar," said Thrall. "He can recover there."

"No," said the small human rogue who'd been lurking nearby almost since Nightfrost had fallen off Varian's sword. She stood straight and defiant against the adults in the room, a throwing blade held ready, but almost forgotten in her hand. "He accepted geas to protect me. If you take him away, he'll die unless I go with him."

The Warchief of the Horde exchanged glances with the priest and the Lady of Theramore.

"I do not think we want to exchange one crisis for another," said Jaina Proudmoore. "Is there a place he can rest here?"

"Upstairs," said the girl. "We helped him get better once, we can do it again."

Thrall gently persuaded Firesworn to let him carry his wounded friend and, with direction from Giselle took the wounded elf to his bedroom at the end of the upper hall.

"Warchief?" the young elf mumbled as the leader of the Horde carefully laid him down.

"Hero." Thrall smiled. "You may have prevented another war from starting today. I have to go see to it what you saved doesn't get disrupted again. I will speak with you again, when you're stronger."

The sisters stayed and Firesworn and Bobby and the dwarven healer Micah. Carefully they stripped off the last of the blood soaked armor and settled him more comfortably into the bed. Once the dwarf was satisfied with his position, propped with a mass of pillows and had ordered him to stay in bed for the next day at least, the Alliance healer pulled Richelle aside, deep voice giving her a list of instructions as they withdrew down the hall.

"So," said Giselle, hands on her hips and surveying Nightfrost's two friends. "You're the one he told me about. You'd better be worth it."

She pointed at Bobby. "You, come with me. They need to be together and talk and - Just come with me."

She stalked over to the door, Bobby trailing her obediently with a completely bemused expression on his face. She shooed him out of the room, then paused, looking back at Firesworn. "At least you're cute. I'll have to talk to Richelle about you."

"Cute?" said the sin'dorei mage, kneeling and putting himself on a level with her, reminded of his own daughters back in Shattrath. "Men are not cute. Handsome, maybe."

She walked back in; studying him while Bobby hovered in the doorway.

"You have beautiful eyes. Don't do anything rough with him tonight, okay? And you are cute." She kissed the tip of his nose.

"Maybe I should marry both of you." She picked up a small bay-black toy horse from the floor and shoved it into Firesworn's hands. "Keep this with him and don't eat the magick out of it, okay?"

Nightfrost laughed weakly as she reclaimed Bobby and disappeared down the hall.

"What was that about?" asked Firesworn, coming to stand near the bed. He could feel a web of nature magick around the toy, feel it soothing some of his tension as he held it.

"She's been telling me we're going to get married for as long as I've been here," said Nightfrost. He sighed, breathing evening out into almost a doze, before he added, "That's when she's not trying to pair me off with her sister. I'm so glad you're here."

He shifted a little. "Take off that bloody uniform and crawl in with me? I'm cold."

"I don't want to hurt you." Firesworn tucked the dark little horse next to him among the pillows.

"I'm healed, I'm just faint from blood loss. You won't hurt me." He caught Firesworn's hand, but there was no strength in his grip. "Stay. Or tell me I've misread everything, that what you were whispering to me was just to get me to hang on a little longer."

"It was," Firesworn said.

Nightfrost's eyes shut and his breath caught in a little pained sigh that could have been from his injuries, but wasn't.

The ashen-haired mage slipped out of his grasp, turned and shut the door.

"But I meant all of it," he said from the doorway and began unbuttoning his jacket.


	2. Do You Love Him? continued

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Part 1 chapter 2, Rough draft started 5/27/10: Lots of blood. Guy snuggling and discussion of life, sex, and who to kill next. You've been warned, though there really isn't anything to scald your eyes here, maybe next chapter.

Quick Thalassian (Blood elven) Primer: Sin'dorei = blood elves, blood elven, when not speaking of the language

Sin'dore = my guess on what the singular of sin'dorei might be, if it isn't singular and plural itself

Kim' = little. Apologies for the horizon line breaks, but for some reason the formatting isn't recognizing the Shift + Enter command for normal line breaks.

* * *

Part 1: Do You Love Him?

Continued . . .

Nightfrost watched through his lashes as Firesworn peeled off the blood-soaked officer's jacket and held it up, inspecting the damage. "I don't think bleach will work this time," the mage said.

"I could suck it out," the rogue said.

"What?" Firesworn's head jerked around, green eyes fixing on his friend.

Nightfrost blinked and rubbed his face. "Completely random thought. I've no idea where that floated in from. Your trousers are ruined, too."

"At least I can get it off my boots. Stains won't show." The mage hopped around on one foot, pulling one of the offending boots off, then changed legs and repeated the dance with the other. "Oh, ick," he said, looking at his hands before expediently wiping them on some of the few clean patches left on the trousers. Loosening his belt, he pulled it free of the loops and tossed it after his boots, then just peeled the trousers down, turning them inside out as he pulled them off.

"Drawers are a loss," Nightfrost announced. "I have some in the dresser, top on the left. I think they'll fit, most are still loose on me."

"How bad is the shirt?"

"Not. I don't see any blood on it. No, wait, the tail is red."

"That's amazing, everything's ruined, except for my socks."

"You can borrow my clothes, you always – you're always welcome."

Firesworn shot him a sidelong glance and a lifted eyebrow before starting to rummage through his clothes, not that there were many to sort through.

"There should be water in the pitcher, you can at least rinse yourself a bit. Unless you want to go to the bathhouse?"

"With random Stormwind royal guard wandering around? I think I just stay here. If I didn't wash at all I'd still not damage the sheets anymore than you have. Mmmm, if I soak the tail of the shirt, it should at least be wearable tomorrow. I'm not wearing red, especially not red wool, especially not after today. Is that the shirt you won?" He poked at something in one of the drawers, his expression rather as if he'd found a particularly enormous bug.

"Oh, that? Yes. Never thought it would get clean either. There might be hope for the uniform. That was a Sunfury officer's, wasn't it? What did you do, drop him in a vat of bleach?"

"Something like that," Firesworn admitted with a quirky smile. He'd dropped the shirt in its own pile, away from the uniform and tossed his drawers over by the crimson-stained trousers. Aware Nightfrost was watching with more than clinical interest, he cleaned himself quickly, dried and pulled on the pair of drawers he'd borrowed.

"Why were you wearing that? And why bleach it?"

"I don't wear _red_." Firesworn found Nightfrost's brush and started ripping it with unnecessary force through his ashy brown-gold hair.

"Why wear it at all?"

"Because it was mine."

"You were in the Sunfurys?"

"After Northrend, before Vorenthal had his vision, yes." Firesworn was not being gentle with his hair.

"But you're not a Scryer, you told me that in prison."

"He told me my fate didn't lie in Outland. It was one of the few things he ever said that was true." The mage didn't elaborate on whether that meant Vorenthal or one of the other possible 'he's' of equal or greater stature. Given the leader of the Scryers reputation, Nightfrost suspected it had been someone else. "Where should I dump this?" His friend pointed at the basin of reddish water.

"There's a water closet at the top of the stairs."

When Firesworn came back, his friend was asleep, face very pale when contrasted against his own still bloodstained hair and dark lashes, and even against the white of the sheet he lay on.

The mage carefully eased onto the bed, squirming under the covers until he was close enough to feel the other's body heat. With a shaky sigh he slipped an arm across his friend's belly, staying below the bandages on the chest, but keeping it just a friend's gentle hug.

"I don't know if I can love you," he whispered sadly.

Nightfrost shifted, snuggling into his warmth. Compared to his temperature, the smaller elf did feel chilled. Firesworn pulled the quilt up over them both.

Once he was settled again, arm back across Nightfrost, the rogue slid a hand over his, saying, "It's enough we have a chance to find out."

The young rogue snuggled closer and drifted into sleep again.

Firesworn held him and kept watch as he had many times before.

* * *

Richelle brought hot beet soup with sour cream and a steak sliced from the side of beef in the cold cellar and potatoes. And mugs of cider, mulled and steaming also shared the platter with the food. She tapped lightly on the door and pushed in, only to stop as Firesworn slid out of bed, all fel-green eyes and started casting, which he immediately ceased, still radiating danger but at a lesser level.

"Apologies, lady," he said in Common with the accents of Booty Bay. "May I help you with that?"

"There's a bed table on top of the wardrobe," she said, after a moment of studying him.

"That smells wonderful, Richelle," Nightfrost said. He smiled at her and shifted up in the bed, readjusting pillows and the light summer quilt. That, he kicked down to the end of the bed.

"Don't thrash around," she cautioned him.

He favored her with a widening of that slow, relaxed smile. "You have no idea how wonderful it feels to be able to be thrashing around. I thought all my tomorrows had ended. It feels very good to be alive, pain and all." He held up a conciliatory hand. "Mostly, I'm just a bit lightheaded. The food will help."

He noted the platter held enough for three. "You're joining us?"

"I thought we might need to talk while Giselle is busy. If you feel up to it?"

He eyed the platter. "Let me get some of the soup in me and we'll see, but I think so." He looked to Firesworn, who was holding the lap table. "Might as well come back on the bed. We'll give Richelle the chair."

Once the food was shared out and Nightfrost had simply drunken half his bowl of soup without really stopping, he leaned back into the pillows. "Without Giselle here, I'm probably going to need you to translate, Firesworn. My Common's better than it was, but that still isn't saying much."

Firesworn nodded, cutting thin slices of beef and wolfing them down, gracefully yes, but with the same intensity the rogue had turned on his soup.

"Tell me what happened after I fell down," Nightfrost commanded gently and scooped a spoonful of shredded beets into his mouth.

Richelle explained, with occasional comments from Firesworn. Nightfrost half-listened, but was in part distracted by the food and simply being with two of the people he cared about most. _Like late-night gabfests in our dorm_, the thought warmed him until the realization set in that he'd never shared a dorm room with Firesworn, though he could remember many nights they'd stayed up until dawn talking with friends. It was disorienting at best.

_It's going to take awhile for us to get used to one another, kim'dore, just accept it for now, neither of us is in any shape to fight. _

Firesworn's hand was on his shoulder, steadying him. "Nightfrost, do you just want to lie back? We can do this another time."

The rogue covered his hand with his, gave it a gentle grateful squeeze. "No. I just had a thought. Where is Bobby?"

"He was giving a report to King Varian."

"A report? To Varian Wrynn?"

"Apparently the king's accepted him back into the Army or something," and Richelle went on to explain what had passed between the renegade and Stormwind's ruler.

"Any other momentous happenings I should know about?"

"None we've heard of." She took a drink of mulled cider. "But I've a question for you, Sky. When will you be leaving?"

"Leaving?"

"You're healed, or will be again in a few days. _If_ you don't do anything else stupid," she added. "And Giselle has protection to excess now. You're free."

"Free?" The sin'dorei rogue got an odd, inward looking expression, before another smile lit his face. "Yes, I'm oath-bound no longer."

Blue eyes swept Firesworn with a warm glance before returning to the black haired human woman. "But I don't know when I'll be traveling." He let his eyes return to the food. "Or if."

Both his companions gave little starts at that, but it was the other in his head who was decidedly _not_ pleased.

* * *

"Don't!" I said it aloud, but it was directed the annoyed red-eyed sin'dore sharing space in my mind. _As you said, neither of us is ready for a fight. I accepted your help, but I can't make Firesworn fall in love with me, if he isn't already. And I'm not longer fel-touched; I don't know what that's going to do to us._

_I will listen_, said the other, sounding much too much like a death knight, _for now_.


	3. Confessions and Desires

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 3, Rough draft started 5/29/10: Guy snuggling and discussion of life, lust, and sex. Guy/girl pairing, strong implication of sex acts. You've been warned. Still don't own WoW. Talindor used to be the Darkfallen Prince Taldaram and WoW does own him, but he seems to think he's mine. Or I'm his, but that's just his personality. "I will listen. For now." at the end of the last chapter is lifted straight out of the game as a standard death knight reply.

Quick Thalassian (Blood elven) Primer:

Sin'dorei = blood elves, blood elven, when not speaking of the language

Sin'dore = my guess on what the singular of sin'dorei might be, if it isn't singular and plural itself

Kim' = little.

Belore = the Sun, by the Sun. Talindor sometimes uses it as a curse.

San'layn = Darkfallen, Arthas' vampiric blood elves, mostly captured members of Kael'thas & Illidan's unfortunate trip to Northrend

* * *

Part 2: Confessions and Desires

"I can't make a decision yet. Firesworn and I have a lot of catching up to do. I'd like for us to be able to do that here, if only because I'm hurt and I'm comfortable here, but I don't know if Stormwind will give us the option." I brooded over the mulled cider, not drinking it, but just letting the smell waft around me.

"I don't think you'll need to worry about having to go out the window in the wee hours of the morning," Richelle said. "You made quite the impression on the King."

"The gratitude of kings can be a very short-lived thing," I told her. "But I can see where the difference between hearing a report and living through it might get through even the thickest of skulls. I don't suppose Garrosh was there?"

"No," said Firesworn. "But Saurfang the Elder was. I suspect he'll have something to say to you eventually. And just as well Garrosh wasn't there, your emotions and opinions came through very clearly."

_Yes_, admitted the angry presence in my head, _I felt it too. ____It _was . . . interesting to know what actually happened from another point of view.

"So, you haven't had time to discuss what you told me that day near the bathhouse?"

Richelle didn't dither, she went straight to the heart; it was one of the things I liked about her. I cut a piece of the beef, deliberately took my time chewing it. "I do occasionally sleep," I said, knowing I had the attention of all three of them. "We've touched on it, but nothing's been decided." I cut another slice, rather wishing I had sat in the chair for then I would have been able to watch both of them at the same time.

"Decided?" asked Firesworn.

"What you are to each other," Richelle said bluntly, her dark eyes fixing on him.

"Ah!" his eyes narrowed and he put a hand on my leg, though his gaze never left her. "Are you lovers?" he asked, equally blunt.

"No," we both answered.

"Are you?" she countered, either having forgotten what I'd told her on that point, but more likely probing to see what he would say. I took a quick bite of potatoes to keep from interjecting anything. The voice in my head had fallen absolutely silent.

"Not yet," he flicked me a look, then focused back on her, "except in dreams. I will not say I love him, human girl, but I won't lie and say I don't either. I want him and, I think, he wants me. Whether it will be for forever or whether even that would exclude you, I do not know."

The grasp he had on my leg tightened, then he released me as though he'd realized he'd put his hand on me. Settling back, his eyes closed in a moment of pain I almost missed. When he opened them again, he gave Richelle a very appraising stare, one of those 'I'm seeing you naked' looks that generally infuriate women and chill men, before sending the majority into a rage. "I wouldn't turn you from my own bed," he said in tones deliberately set to provoke, whether Richelle or myself or both of us I wasn't sure, "but would we be able to tolerate each other outside of it? I lived with Nightfrost for months in the worst of conditions and if our positions had been reversed this evening I would have done something very similar. We are battle partners of that I have no doubt, but I don't know if we can be lovers."

In Thalassian, he continued, talking now to some spot on the bed between Richelle and I, "I've only ever had a male lover once before. To stay together was literally death for one of us, so he sent me away. He just died, Nightfrost, the day Bobby and I arrived in Booty Bay. That's why I said I wasn't sure I could love you, everything's raw and fresh as if I'd been with him. And then to come so close to having you die in my arms . . . and Bobby, being Bobby . . . I don't know if there's room in my heart for you, I don't know if I can face that pain again so soon. Or ever."

I pulled him into my arms, to hell with food, dishes and what have you, the other in my head fully in concert with me in our concern. "I will not leave you, kim'dore, my fire-sworn mage. We have gone through too much to lose each other now."

He stiffened in my arms, and I knew it was from the love names we'd spoken, but then his body curled into mine and the tears took him, the terrible shaking grief he'd felt at the loss of the sin'dorei who'd helped save my life, the grief he'd refused to give over to until now.

_Don't tell him I'm here_, that one said, _it might shatter him completely. I don't know if we can ever tell him, but the time certainly isn't now._

I caught the pain in his comment to himself, _No matter how much I want to let him know_, before he walled me off completely.

I was dimly aware Richelle was clearing crockery from the bed, including Firesworn's bowl of beet soup, astonishingly unspilled.

"Richelle, if you can forgive how he said it, join us, please?"

I heard her setting something down, then nothing but Firesworn's sobs for long enough I thought she'd left the room. Then the bed shifted and she was there, one arm around my back, the other hugging Firesworn's shoulder.

She kissed his cheek, smoothed his hair away from his face. The look she gave me was half-regretful, then she turned her attention fully to him, kissing his cheek again, lifting his jaw to catch his mouth with hers. His eyes opened wide and he startled under her touch, then surrendered to her, eyes clouding with lust and need, and no, they are not the same thing. Not for us and not right then.

I could have stayed and played voyeur, Light knows I wanted to, that I wanted to join them. But truth was I knew I couldn't just then. And those two wounded souls needed to come to an understanding with each other before anything else was added to the mix. I slipped out of bed, going slowly and found my robe. I kissed them both before I left, letting them know they weren't driving me out, but not letting them pull me in either.

I hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign I'd found in the dresser on the door, locked it from the outside, and very slowly made my way to the watercloset and then downstairs where I frightened Grandmamma off the sofa and claimed it for myself. Shortly after that, braced with pillows and all but smothered in knit blankets, I fell asleep.


	4. Do You Love Him? reprise

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 4, Rough draft started 5/29/10: Arthas makes a great Bogeyman, especially if you've done the Escape From the Halls of Reflection fight, but you don't need to know it for this story. guy/girl, guy/guy pairings, strong implication of sex acts. Guy/guy kissing. You've been warned, and really, if you are this far into the second of Nightfrost's stories, you have no grounds to be shocked.

Still don't own WoW. Talindor used to be the Darkfallen Prince Taldaram and WoW does own him, but he seems to think he's mine. Or I'm his, but that's just his personality.

Quick Thalassian (Blood elven) Primer:

Sin'dorei = blood elves, blood elven, when not speaking of the language

Sin'dore = my guess on what the singular of sin'dorei might be, if it isn't singular and plural itself

Kim' = little.

Belore = the Sun, by the Sun. Talindor sometimes uses it as a curse.

San'layn = Darkfallen, Arthas' vampiric blood elves, mostly captured members of Kael'thas & Illidan's unfortunate trip to Northrend

* * *

Part 2: Do You Love Him? reprise

Nightfrost and Talindor

I was alone in my room again, dressed in one of the smoky black silk Lunar Festival suits the druid tailors sell, intricately embroidered with dragons in blacker, shinier black and luck symbols in golden thread. My hair was loose, longer than I kept it now, the black grown out so it was its true shade of dark brown, still almost black, but threaded with an overlay of rust I knew would sun-bleach to a deep dark red, not that I spent much time in the sun. I suspected the other in my head had something to do with the changes to my appearance.

I heard a rustle, fabric on fabric, and moved, countering the other's attack or unannounced approach with a kick that sent him against a wall. I put the bed between us, feeling more confident until he growled like one of the orcs' war wolves and flowed across the room, amazingly fast. I countered by flicking the basin into where I thought he would be and dodging.

I think it was as much the icy water in the basin as actually catching his face square on that stopped him. Drenched, his now wet hair turned almost as dark as mine, he glowered at me with crimson eyes that only gradually turned golden. "You left him alone with her," he said, his voice dripping venom so clearly I finally understood how the analogy had first been made. Having used enchanted weapons that actually seem to drip certainly made it easier to visualize.

In his anger I could easily imagine him using such a weapon on me, if not doing it with the raptors' claws that tipped his fingers or those wicked, nightsabre-like fangs.

"If you kill me, Talindor Brightblade," I said, plucking his name out of our shared memories, "at best you will have to explain yourself to him. Or we both die, bound spirits that we are and that will certainly leave him alone with her. Or shattered in madness."

"No," he said in denial, shaking his head, hissing breath out in a pained, exasperated sigh. "I've not been so unable to control my emotions since I was first turned. I love him, but he brings out the worst in me at all the wrong times."

The dreamscape shifted, though knowing it for a dream didn't wake me. Part of what I recognized instinctually as Talindor's safe place intruded, white furs lapping against the bright, braided rugs of my room, walls of deep blue ice abutting the leaf green plaster. A fire of blue flames flickered and danced on a hearth of Northrend granite.

"No," he whispered, turned from me to stare at it, but I heard him and felt his horror as though it were my own. "Not even sin'dorei in death. San'layn. Damned, even as a ghost, even as the memory of a ghost. Will I never be free of Icecrown?"

The whole of the dreamscape started shifting again, corridors of granite and ice forming. There was a terrible pulling, building sense of dread and of cold, cold anger focused solely on him.

"Talindor! Talindor! Damnit! We have to get out of here!" He looked as lost as I generally felt when my Wrathgate nightmare hit and that gave me a clue on how to break us out of what was clearly, to me at least, his own personal horrors. Walking with him somewhere he desperately did not want to go. I did _not_ want to see what was at the end of this maze of corridors, so I tripped him, pinned him in that moment of surprise and bit his lips, forced my tongue into his mouth, ignoring the fangs, ignoring the blood red eyes, just trying to shock him into focusing on me.

The blood across his eyes cleared. He looked totally surprised I was playing the aggressor with him.

I handed him one of my daggers, since there are damn few people who can't figure out the pointy end goes in the enemy. "Come on, golden eyes. You're a mage, aren't you? We can't stay here."

There should be a horse.

I yanked him to his feet and pulled him into a run, looking for my horse, looking for forest, willing it to be there, early summer in Elwynn, oaks and beech and the bright sparkling rush of the rivers. And sunlight. Belore, yes! Sunlight. There.

Black-bay Quel'dorei steed awaited us, long of mane and tail, long of leg, silver shoes striking sparks from the stones as he arched his neck, pawing wickedly. Throwing his head up, half-rearing, he gave a stallion scream of challenge.

"Taldaram."

I knew that voice, had heard it at the Wrathgate. Tal gave a little cry of despair and faltered. It hurt to hear such a noise from such a proud, arrogant spirit, but I didn't let go, forced him forward, dragging him stumbling into the light and telling him, "Talindor Brightblade, golden eyes, you're an elf, and you're _mine_. I will _not_ let him have you."

I threw Tal onto the back of my warhorse, almost funny since they're both so much taller than I am, and turned to face our enemy, dagger and sword at the ready, the armor I'd had before the Stockades weightless on me in that moment.

"This is my holy ground, death knight," I warned, not giving him more status than that. "My forest. Challenge me here if you dare. All your tomorrows will end on my blades."

The enemy stopped and very slowly, very, very slowly the forest rose up between us, sunlit and shadowed until there was only Elwynn, green and sun-dappled and the terrible blue stare and sword and corridors of Icecrown were gone.

I put my hand on Talindor's thigh, anchoring us both with the restive horse.

"He'll be back," said the mage.

"Perhaps. He'll find me waiting."

I vaulted onto my stallion, slipped my arms around Talindor's chest. I nuzzled his neck and the base of his ear. "You're _mine_, Talindor. _Mine and Firesworn's_. We will never let him touch you again."

He relaxed in my arms, trusting me to hold him. And hair that had been bleaching white returned to its dark red, his eyes golden as he turned his head to look back at me. I kissed him and his eyes shut in pleasure. I wondered if he'd always been the one to do the claiming before and what it would mean to him, to us, that I had done it.

And I awoke.

* * *

Richelle and Firesworn

"_Come away now, human child,_

_To the woods and waters wild,_

_With a fairy hand in hand. _

_For the world's more full of weeping, _

_Than any heart can stand." _- William Butler Yeats, "Stolen Child"

"Do you love him?" she asked.

"He's in my dreams every night. I know I want him. I still don't know if I love him, Richelle. Nor how this will affect him." He rolled onto his side, propped himself with one arm and began tracing patterns on her skin. "Or you. Or us. Could there be 'us,' human child? Or is what I'm feeling simply lust and sex dreams?"

"I am no child, as you should well know now," she said, capturing his hand and kissing it before guiding it lower. "We've both lost someone we loved and thought was our life." Firesworn stopped, shivered, then let her continue leading his hand where she wanted it. "Would you stay? No, I would no more cage you than a wild stag. Will you let me travel with you until we have a chance to find out?"

"You would come with me? With us?"

"With you, I already have," she laughed easily, stoking his leg. "But you won't stay, perhaps can't stay and Sky has been tethered here only by his given word. Despite what he said, I think he is wild to be away, though I do think he will return. I am not bound here, easier for me to go with you both and find out what might be."

His green eyes widened at more than just her touch.

"You would leave your family and friends to follow two ne'er-do-well elves?"

She showed him the gold ring on her hand. "A married woman leaves her home and family if her husband so commands. My husband is dead, Firesworn, my path is my own choosing. I've wealth and property of my own, you will not leave me a penniless pauper if by choice or misfortune you would abandon me somewhere. And it would be good to see more of the world than Stormwind and the forests of Elwynn."

"Touché, lady. I am corrected."


	5. A Moment of Clarity

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 5, Rough draft started 5/30/10: What's Bobby been doing while his friends are otherwise occupied? Crude prison speech, a few other crude words here and there, implied prison sex, violence and murder, description of the aftermath of torture, but nothing onscreen. Think that covers the messy parts...

Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. Great, huge thanks to everyone who's added my stories to favorites. And to my reviewers, wow, you folks make my day ;-D Please continue and if you see any problems, please let me know. Offer suggestions too, I love them, even if they don't get used.

Explanation of Terms:

Eartails – those long bits of hair in front of the ears, not to be confused with sideburns, though they rarely accompany them

Fixer – a pawnbroker, fence, arranger of contracts, and supplier of jobs and protection for the workers in the shadows

Cog tattoo – symbol of the Defias Brotherhood as defined in WoWwiki

Lo'gosh – ghost wolf, Varian's name as a gladiator per the WoW comic.

The "H" is silent in "Orlich"

* * *

Part 3: A Moment of Clarity

Flashback

Bobby Twoknives' personal war had never been with the Alliance or the common citizens of Stormwind. His feud was solidly with Stormwind's nobles, those who had refused to open their purse strings and pay the Stonemasons who had rebuilt the city. It was a family thing, grandfather the stonemason, father the Defias agent, mad son Bobby the Defias assassin. Bobby was the only member of his family still alive.

Nine of Stormwind's nobles had fallen to his blades. No, not all were leaders of their families, some were young fops, some old and drunken, but the clamor from the survivors and their fear opened purses their greed had not. When the bounty grew high enough he began to have to watch his back more than the usual around even his supposed comrades, Bobby had taken ship to Northrend.

He might be insane, but he wasn't crazy.

In Northrend, he not only evaded the bounty hunters, he even found a purpose greater than eliminating the nobles of Stormwind.

Though, to be very precise about it, his chosen target probably was related to the nobles of Stormwind, or had been. Or something like that. All human nobility was bound together in a more or less incestuous relationship anyway. But he'd been very happily scouting and killing people and . . . and other people and things that had once been people. And lots of things which had never been people or even parts of people, but they didn't really count.

Until the Wrathgate.

Then returning to Stormwind had made perfect sense, though if he could have gotten to Vengeance Landing from the Dragonblight fast enough, there would have been one very empty zeppelin by the time it docked in Tirisfal. Tagging along with the raid to Undercity had been no stretch for his abilities, the killing not really requiring any finesse.

The odd combination of mourning and triumph and preparation for war with the Horde afterwards had let him slip back into the shadows again, unsure he wanted any part of that particular insanity when he still had a job to do in Northrend.

He'd been negotiating a gear trade with one of the city's fixers when the establishment had been raided. The owner had fallen on a knife in the chaos and no one else there, cop or crook, knew Bobby for anyone beyond some low ranking Defias.

He'd been thrown into a cellblock in the Stockades without even a thorough search and, while he wasn't able to escape, he'd quickly established he was no one's buttboy. But he wasn't a leader either. He didn't play well in groups.

Then someone in the bureaucracy had assigned a new prisoner to his own little personal piece of the city. Or someone else had decided to lose a body in a place where bodies weren't remarked on. And life became more interesting.

The door to their cellblock was thrown open, without the usual warnings and two bulky guards Bobby didn't remember ever seeing before threw a limp robe-clad body down the stairs.

"Enjoy, boys. It's the king's birthday, here's some fresh meat."

The rogue was considering rushing the door as he started across the room, but the men retreated quickly, the heavy door slamming shut before he'd committed to pulling his knives. He'd given the door a sour look before turning his attention to the 'present,' rolling the body over with a foot.

The guards of Stormwind or someone before them had done a much more professional job on the sin'dorei mage lying there than they'd done when dropping Bobby in. The elven man had been beaten repeatedly, bruises tracked upon bruises, tall ears clipped short at an angle like a half elf's and only half-healed. His eartails and generous portions of his mane had been hacked off. Burns and half-healed cuts blended into the bruises on what could be seen of his arms, only his face was free of them, though it was bruised as well. And his hands . . . none of the men in the cellblock who had ever worked their craft with light and nimble fingers could look at what had been done to his hands and not share a twinge of sympathy, even for a Hordey.

"I call dibs," said someone. "Fresh meat is fresh meat."

Bobby checked the mage's mouth and turned to the speaker, smiling sweetly. He still had his youth and most of his teeth, he might have been looking at a lover, and in a way he was. Two of his knives made glittering arcs as he spun them. He shook his head. "Tagged," he said.

"Aw, come on, Bobby. You don't fuck or suck, what do you want with him? You got a hard on for elf ass? Or a grudge? If it's a grudge, what difference does it make if we pass him around a bit?"

"He's a mage. What price for a mage with a portal spell in here?"

"His hands are smashed to hell and we've no proof he could cast a portal anyway."

Bobby's smile widened. "No proof he can't. Think he'll go anywhere? Now, find me some stuff and I'll splint his hands." Stooping, he lifted the mage and carried him over to his flop. He'd never gone to Outland, so he had no real opinion of blood elves. Except for the dark haired one who helped him at the Wrathgate when there'd been just two more ghouls than Bobby could quite handle. He'd helped him get his officer into a fireman's carry too, after they'd cleared a little space, signed 'luck and good hunting,' and vanished back into the battle. That elf was most likely dead, but he'd inadvertently saved Bobby's life for he'd been behind the lines delivering the scout leader to the healers when the Forsaken added their two coppers to the battle. No harm and maybe a bit of good feeling for saving one of his kin from more abuse and probable death.

And maybe, if Lady Fortune smiled, the mage would know a way to get them out.

Elwynn Forest, the present

Cause enough trouble in the world and eventually fate, or your enemies, will catch up with you. Bobby had generally kited free, sometimes by skill, sometimes by training one enemy into another, sometimes by sacrificing allies, though that was bad for business. He'd never really had friends since he'd last been playing in the dirt outside his mother's cottage. Not until he'd met Firesworn and Nightfrost and the two orc brothers in the Stockades. They were . . . comfortable to be around, unlike other humans, perhaps because they didn't have any possible ties to his past. Bobby, being Bobby, simply accepted it.

Firesworn was, in many ways, the leader he'd been looking for, setting the cellblock to collecting the bits he'd need to make a portal stone, awing the unruly with the magick he could cast even with his broken hands. Why the men who'd worked the mage over and been so careful to mash his hands hadn't also cut his tongue out before they'd discarded him was a puzzle the rogue had never solved. Maybe they'd wanted him to have a last torment of being able to cast a little, but not enough to do any major harm. Or maybe they just hadn't cared once they'd beaten whatever it was they'd wanted to know out of him.

Either way, with Bobby's support, Firesworn had organized the cellblock and played politics with the rest. The orc brothers had added muscle and Slim's own skill at wetwork and Nightfrost added another layer on that as well as a general attitude of good nature and friendliness not usually found in situations like theirs. For all that he couldn't seem to get his mind around Common, he was expressive with his signing, capable of terrible puns you were never quite sure he hadn't deliberately made, and lost at cards often enough no one ever really got mad at him for long. His addition was what fully welded them into a guild as Bobby saw it.

And once he finally recognized the elf for the one who'd helped at the Wrathgate, Bobby's loyalty was cemented. For the first time since his brief childhood, the young rogue had family again.

Something to lose.

But what he hadn't really expected was both elves to think of him that way as well, though Nightfrost's near-suicidal intervention with the king of Stormwind likely was more because of Firesworn than himself. Or that when he'd offered himself as sacrifice for their lives, that he'd be rejected by the one man with more reason to hate the Defias than any other.

Once Nightfrost was stabilized and settled and the rogue maiden had herded him out of the room, he went to prepare for his debriefing and whatever else Lo'gosh of Stormwind might have planned for him. While the SI-7 squad and the various bodyguard details might have been able to cope Nightfrost's damaged rogue skills, once Bobby was outside, he might as well have ported for all they could detect him until he faded back into sight in the airlock of the inn. He'd purloined someone's dress uniform jacket and carefully stripped off all insignia, except for the corporal's stripes, which he'd darkened with boot black as was semi-proper for a scout. From his stash, he'd recovered his own Alliance medals and service badge. There was a security point just beyond the airlock where he scared the men on duty by divesting himself of the weapons he hadn't left behind when he visited his stash.

"Scout Corporal Bobby Orlich, with a report for the Commander-in-Chief," he identified himself, throwing the nervous men a careless salute.

"Orlich?"

"I didn't enlist under my working name," he told them with just a hint of his smile. Obviously, neither of them knew much about Stormwind's underworld.

"You could have kept your weapons."

"No, not really. Bad idea." Not that he needed weapons, the surroundings generally provided more than enough. Not that he was planning on using them either, but….

He waited with feigned patience while word was passed up and back down.

"Upstairs, middle of the hall."

He didn't bother saluting, he'd never been big on the manners of the military when he didn't need to be and he figured, one way or another, he was hardly going to be punished, even if they did write him up.

He did salute the honor detail, read 'bodyguards,' flanking the door he was interested in. They had a crap job, whether they thought so or not. He figured five seconds, tops, if he'd been working.

_Just a scout, just a scout making a report, doot-de-doot-de-do_, he sing-songed to himself in his head. If he sang it long enough, he might believe it.

The door was opened, he walked in the required five-steps-if-you-have-room, which he easily did, and dropped to one knee. Varian Wrynn wasn't doing anything at the moment, just standing by the cold hearth. The bed had been removed from the room, replaced with a desk and an officer's cot and a scattering of chairs by the hearth.

"You're late," he said.

"Triage took longer than expected, . . . Commander."

"The high elf boy, did he survive?"

"Yes." Better not to correct Lo'gosh if he thought Nightfrost was a high elf, bad enough his friend had linked himself with Bobby as it was.

"Make yourself comfortable, scout, and give me your report."

Bobby shrugged, stood, carefully crossed the room and dropped down onto the bearskin rug by the non-existent fire as the most comfortable seat available. It was also the least defensible and the easiest for the maids to clean. Slouching over his crossed legs, he began to speak.

When he was finished, his commander handed him a snifter of brandy. Silence fell between them, not companionable, but not immediately threatening. Bobby drank, just letting himself drift, ignoring past and future, just letting himself exist in the now.

"Why were you killing the peers of Stormwind," the king asked him, casually, like a semi-bored drinking companion might.

"They needed killing," Bobby said, and took another swallow.

The king snorted. "I would imagine you thought so at the time."

'Why' hung between them, like a dead body in the room.

"I still do," Bobby rubbed his right hand, where a golden cog was tattooed. He turned his head sideways and rolled his eyes at the king, just the hint of a smile on his lips. "The king should have made them pay the Stonemason's Guild."

"So that's what it was about?

Bobby shrugged, still with that faint smile playing about his lips, head still tilted. "It's what it's always been about, for me, Lo'gosh. Family stuff, you understand. Stormwind hung my father, destroyed my grandfather. Just a bit of payback."

"So you'd end the same way, hung like a common criminal, though you're a hero of the Wrathgate? Why fight for the Alliance then?"

"Because I didn't have friends in the Horde at the time?" Bobby sat up straighter and took another drink. "Make no mistake, the Lich King needs killing too. And he's a bigger purse than the lords of Stormwind, for now, Lo'gosh."

"Why are you using that name?"

"Because I respect you, Lo'gosh. I can talk to a man who fought in the pits, a man who leads the army I fought for."

"But not the King of Stormwind?"

"No, not the King of Stormwind," Bobby agreed. "He just nearly killed my best friends. He didn't protect his people from the decisions of the nobles. No, I don't think I should talk to the King of Stormwind. I don't think I like him very much." Bobby's voice was sweet, his smile very nearly full. The chair legs looked promising, they'd break to sharp points.

The brandy burned in a fine fire along his nerves. He set the snifter down carefully on the hearth. He'd had enough, he was completely relaxed now, and anything was possible.

"What would you ask him, if you could be in the same room without trying to kill him?"

"That he let my friends go and not send hounds on their trail. That he make restitution to the Stonemasons or their families."

"And for himself?"

"Bobby Twoknives surrendered to the King. I don't think he expects anything, Commander, except the death on the King's sword his friends tried to prevent. Quick and clean or a bit more slowly and bloody. If not by the King's sword, then by one of the nobles or their guards someday.

"I think he'd give the King one stroke, and then, if he was still alive, I think he'd fight." Bobby's smile was complete and perfect as any choirboy at the Temple of Light. "But the King isn't likely to miss that one stroke."

"No," agreed Lo'gosh. "And he probably should take it, but . . ."

The man walked to the desk and picked up a stack of parchment, heavy with seals and ribbons. "There was enough blood shed today, in rage not tempered by thought. A king cannot afford to make those mistakes, if he is not to be a tyrant. And blood price aside, Bobby's friend gave the king a gift not easily repaid."

He handed the rogue the parchments. "Reports, no matter how detailed couldn't convey what had happened. Being told was nothing like being there, your friend has a terrible burden and a terrible gift. And I believe the King has a new respect for everyone who fought at the Wrathgate."

"What are these?" asked Bobby.

"Full pardons for any crimes committed in the lands of Stormwind through today under the king's own seal and hand. I would suggest Bobby and his friends don't linger overlong in Elwynn, Corporal Orlich."

He picked a snifter off the mantle. "Would you drink a toast with me before you go, Corporal?"

Bobby picked up his own snifter and stood. "I believe I would, sir," he said.

"To Bolvar Fordragon and the fallen at Wrathgate, may your souls be protected by the Light."

"To Sir Fordragon and the fallen," agreed Bobby, touching his snifter lightly to the other, and drained the last of the brandy. "And a good evening to you, Commander."

"And to you, Corporal."


	6. Morning Revelations

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 6, Rough draft started 6/2/10: Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. Still waiting on Blizzard's reply.

Morning talks, introductions and realizations. Short, but I haven't updated in a while… Bad language, mmm, implied torture, nothing really too bad in this one, but it's short

* * *

Part 5: Morning Revelations

Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms

Sunlight filtered into the room from multiple windows, confusing me for a moment, since the rest of my morning compliment was there: Black Tom, Little Queen, and Bale, either sitting on me or pressed tight against. But the room was dark brown beams and cream walls, dark leather chairs with bright throws like the sofa I'd commandeered, cozy with small pillows and blankets I'd curled myself around.

"Boychik! What are you doing sleeping down here?" Anna had come in, apparently to start setting the table by the stack of dishes and silverware she was carrying.

Bobby unfolded himself from one of the chairs. "It was too noisy and someone needed to watch Nightfrost, goodwoman." He was wearing an Alliance dress uniform jacket with a smattering of badges. The only one I could immediately identify was the Northrend Expedition medal or whatever they called it. It was the first time I'd seen him interact with normal people, apparently he could do polite when he decided to put forth the effort.

"Skychik?" She looked around. "Tsk, you are too pale again. Go! Go to the kitchen, I will make you borscht and steak for breakfast. Go! We have guests coming. Take your friend with, he is too skinny."

"Once we fold the blankets, Anna."

Bobby joined me, keeping one eye on Anna as she set the table. "Folding blankets, making reports, why is it I feel like I'm back in the army?"

"Maybe the jacket?"

"You had all the blankets."

I rolled my eyes at the growing stack beside us. "Way more than I needed, though it made things more comfortable. I thought you'd surely died at the Wrathgate."

"I would have, if you hadn't shown up or if you hadn't taken the time to help me get my CO out of there. I was back at the camp when they started the bombardment. Thought _you_ were dead, until, whoops, there you were, come to visit. So, fancy a run when we get to Booty Bay?"

"I've been hearing stories about you. No live steel. Or anything else permanent."

"Brother of my heart, yesterday was the closest I ever want to see you to permanent." His brilliant eyes were focused for a moment, before his usual haze of crazy slid across them again. "Just tag for points."

We finished with the blankets. Now to stand up, which actually wasn't that bad, though I was still a bit light-headed.

I was leaning on Bobby's arm before we made it to the kitchen, but we made it. "You should probably lie down."

"Someone would trip over me."

"Sky, what're you doing up?" Stef and a couple of the day team were still in the kitchen finishing breakfast.

"Looking for food. Making sure nothing like yesterday happens again."

"'Sides," said Bobby, relaxing from his first gone-to-alert moment and producing a sheaf of official documents with the flourish of a Darkmoon Faire magician. "We've got pardons, so stand the fuck down, Sevens."

"What?" said Stef, who didn't look like he had the slightest interest in standing down.

"I had no idea this would be so much fun," said Bobby with more real humor in his voice than _I'd_ ever heard from him. His fingers flashed /_Look, idiots_!/ and he started leafing through the sheaf. "One for you," he handed me about a third of the stack. "One for me. And one for our other friend, you should hold onto these too. Sky?" His expression said he'd like an explanation for where I'd gotten that name.

With an easy underhand toss, he lobbed his set over to land near Stef. The SI-7 man snapped it out of the air, gave it a good shake to dislodge any unpleasantnesses Bobby might have hidden inside and flipped quickly through the document.

"Well, bugger me," he said. "He pardoned you."

"Don't sound so sad, Seven. It won't last." Bobby's smile was edging down toward that chilling choirboy grin I'd seen in the Stockades, the one that usually came just before a lot of wetwork.

"It had better last," I warned. "Stef's a friend of mine, Bobby. I've run with his team."

"Damn, this is going to be so complicated. Sevens I can't kill. Hordey friends. What does that leave?" He gave me one of his mad stares.

"Scourge. And pirates."

"Oh. Okay then, as long as we have priorities. What's for breakfast?" He started snooping the room, giving the impression he'd completely dismissed Stef's team as a threat.

"Later, Sky." Stef's fingers flashed /good luck with that./ He nodded at Bobby, guarded his people out and slipped out the door with only the soft click of the latch catching.

Bobby had found the bread and cheeses and was happily making selections. I started prepping the teapots. Anna and Grandmamma came in, checked what we were doing and I got shooed over to the table with strict orders to put my feet up and rest. I wasn't really inclined to argue with them, standing was making me dizzy. They drafted Bobby for chop and peel duty. He dropped his jacket over my shoulders and meekly went along with their orders. It was interesting and a little nerve-wracking to watch. Months in prison had not left me with certainty the boy could be normal for any length of time. Of course, prison is hardly the ideal place to watch anyone. Certainly no one who'd seen me in there would have wanted me anywhere near their family.

Richelle and Firesworn were the next to put on an appearance. She was her usual lovely self. Firesworn – I'd really only seen him outside of prison in dreams, except for last night. This morning he looked . . . relaxed, casually relaxed, bare-footed in a pair of light-tan trousers that were a bit too short in the leg for him and a well-worn green shirt with the cuffs loose and halfway to his fingers. His hair had been brushed, then mussed again – it didn't have that 'been slept in' disarray, but it was tousled. On closer inspection, Richelle was rather tousled herself. And they were comfortable with each other.

I smiled, accepting a mug of hot beet soup from Anna. Talindor made a soft noise, somewhere between a purr and a growl, reminding me he was there, but didn't speak up. It was a better start to the morning than I'd expected, though after what had happened to me, any start to the morning was a good thing.

"What happened to your hands, young man?" Grandmamma asked Firesworn as she was portioning out the rest of the morning chores – I'd had the tea-making duty, which I'd already done.

Firesworn stopped and turned his hands up, turned them over in thoughtful inspection as though he wasn't certain himself where the fresh scars and burn marks had come from. "Someone didn't want me to be able to cast again," he said. He flexed them in an intricate pattern and, though I saw the pain on his face, a small glow flared up around them and a single white rose appeared. He handed it to Grandmamma. "They discounted how stubborn I can be." He looked at Bobby with a fond smile, "Or that help can come from the unlikeliest of people in the unlikeliest of places."

Grandmamma took the rose with a smile and nodded. "They tend to stiffened, don't they?"

"Yes," he admitted, "mornings can be . . . uncomfortable."

"Soak them in warm water when you can," she said. "And I have something I'll mix up for you. It will help with the ache."

"Thank you, lady –

"Hush, Grandmamma will do just fine. It is what Sky calls me and it will do for the both of you. Besides, you've made my granddaughter happy again," she leaned closer and said something to him I couldn't catch, but he blushed scarlet and retreated over to the table with me.

I couldn't resist asking, "What did she say?"

"Never you mind, rogue," he said, somewhere between laughing and blushing. In Thalassian he said, "Thank you, Nightfrost, for sharing her; I didn't mean to fall apart on you." He looked directly into my eyes and something changed in his; embracing me gently, as though he were afraid I might shatter, he added, "Promise you won't ever do that again."

I knew he didn't mean Richelle. "I can't do that, and if I did, you'd have to make the same promise."

"Lovebirds," said Bobby, bouncing the end of a potato off Firesworn's head. "Remember you're in public."

"Yes, brother mine," my mage said, lapsing back into Common.

He rested his head against mine for the barest moment, brushed my cheek with his lips and then settled into the seat next to me as though absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Then Talindor suddenly noticed what I, grown up in the orphanages and streets of Silvermoon and having only ever seen Firesworn with his hair wickedly hacked and filthy, never really gave much thought. _What happened to his ears? Who did that to him?_

I paused and studied my friend. His face was fair, the lashes and brows surprisingly dark for the ashy golden-brown shade of his hair, dark at the roots, but already bleaching to a wood ash-silver at its tips. Long bangs fell almost to his eyes, fine wisps from his eartails and mane drifting forward with the slightest breeze. The red of recent scars started at his neck and disappeared under the shirt, appeared again on his hands, not so vivid against the tanned skin, but still noticeable. Having seen him naked the night before I could attest the rest of his body bore a lacework of recently healed cuts and weals, heavier on his arms, but not a handswidth anywhere that didn't bear the mark of blade or burn. Except for his face, someone had been careful to leave his face alone.

But seeing him with Tal's fresh eyes and memory of how our beloved should look, I saw anew what hadn't really registered while in prison. Firesworn wasn't half-elven; his ears should have risen as did mine. Someone had cropped them short enough they disappeared into his hair, as did those of humans.

That was an insult bloodfeuds had started over. Someone, somewhere, was overdue a visit from my knives and me.

Tal, surprised perhaps by the creative vehemence of my thoughts on the matter, fell silent again.

Bobby, attuned to violence and the prospect of violence, caught my eye. /What?/ he asked.

/Someone needs to die./

Bobby's eyes lit as his disturbing, chillingly beautiful smile was turned on the innocent potatoes.


	7. Who Hunts the Firesworn Mage?

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 7, Rough draft started 6/13/10: Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. 3 weeks and counting…

So, who was behind Firesworn's torture and months in the Stockades? What will they do now that he's back and forming his own mercenary company? And what's Firesworn planning? Where do his allegiances lie?

Oh, the White Tombs Bobby mentions are my name for the other prison or armory in Stormwind, the one in the canals no one in game can get into. The name was inspired by old detective/crime fiction, possibly set in New York City, but I can't remember where I heard it from… possibly The Saint stories… seemed like SW would need a place to keep spellcasters or nobles imprisoned. **Updated with what Talindor named his daughter (not Salandria) and a few other mostly typo fixes 7/6/10 **…

* * *

Part 6: Who Hunts the Firesworn Mage?

Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms, Elwynn Forest

"Firesworn, who tried to kill you?" I asked when we were outside and away from the house.

He gave me a sidelong stare.

"Good luck with that," said Bobby. "I've been asking him the same question since we got settled above Shattrath."

"The simple truth is," my mage said, eyes turning back to the path, "that I don't know."

"Bugger, you could have told me that months ago," growled our human friend. "Surely you have some idea."

"Oh, I'll remember who actually did this to me until I die and perhaps beyond," he said. "But they were only tools. We'd have to track them down to even have a start though I suspect they might well have been killed shortly after I was passed on to the ones who dropped me in the Stockades. It's what I would have done, if I was trying to cut all connection between myself and someone I wanted to disappear."

"If we can find them, it would at least give us a starting point," I said. "Bobby and I, we know how to find people like that; and if they are dead, we might still be able to find associates of theirs who know something."

_Or if we can find their bodies, I might be of some help_, Talindor commented, making me aware of his presence once again.

"Yes, I suppose you might," Firesworn agreed, his green eyes fixing on mine. "I have been forgetting that side of you when I'm planning things. It's good to have you with us again, Nightfrost."

"They would have had to have connections with the Undermarket in Stormwind to have gotten you into the Stockades without it being noticed," said Bobby. "No one with half a brain would or could have dropped a Hordey wizard in there otherwise, unless they'd paid a fortune in bribes. If they wanted you dead, why not make certain of it? Why put you there in the first place? If it was Stormwind after you, why not put you in the White Tombs? And if it wasn't, why would anyone in the Horde go to the trouble?" Bobby's eyes were bright with interest.

"I'm fairly certain it wasn't Stormwind, other than being sin'dorei, I haven't really done anything to directly annoy them. I was captured in Booty Bay. Whoever that was took me to the Bloodsails. They turned me over to the ones who did this," he looked down at his hands, thoughtfully flexing them.

"Do you know where they took you?"

"Maybe somewhere in Westfall." Firesworn paused under an oak, eyes half-closed and lips pursed as he remembered.

"A town? A farm? Somewhere under or above ground?" Bobby was definitely showing more focus than I'd really thought him capable of, I wasn't certain if that was good or bad.

"A town, I think. The place they had me looked like it might have been an inn at one time."

"Moonbrook," said Bobby triumphantly. "I can find things out in there."

"Not without us, little brother," said Firesworn.

"Yes, without," said Bobby. "Unless 'Sky' can prove he's well enough, there's no way I'm taking a mage and a crippled rogue in there with me. Or your black haired lady, because I'm sure she's going to be tagging along as well."

"I'm a battlemage, Bobby," Firesworn said, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. "I can fight as well as any warrior."

"The only time I've seen you draw that has been for practice or to draw pretty patterns in the air, right before something blows up. Should I believe you?" Bobby's eyes had an uncanny gleam to them and while he didn't have that chilling smile, his expression was entirely too eager to make me happy.

Firesworn's sword sang out of its sheathe and he went for Bobby without any hesitation. Bobby dodged and tried to fade, but the fingers on the warrior-mage's free hand flickered and a bolt of intense cold clipped the young human, slowing him before he could vanish into shadow. Bobby threw something, but his timing was off and Firesworn tangled the missile with a loosely worn sleeve and something under the fabric that made a shrill screech of metal as the blade was deflected. The rogue launched himself under Firesworn's sword and into his legs, knocking the mage down on top of him, but that proved to be a mistake for the heavier man rapidly pinned him.

"When are you going to learn not to tackle me, Bobby?" Firesworn demanded, giving the rogue a hard smack off the ground.

"Eventually," the human grinned. "When you can keep me from doing it to you. You're dead, by the way."

"So are you," said Firesworn.

"Actually, yes," I said, stepping out of shadow beside them and letting them both feel the edge of my blades, "you both are. Don't play those games with live steel; we're all too damn deadly to be pulling that. "

"Okay," said Bobby, letting himself go limp with rolled up eyes and protruding tongue for a moment. "You can both come. It's good to see you well again, Nightfrost. Your shadowstep last night as almost as scary as all that blood coming out of you."

I took a deep calming breath and sheathed my blades. For the first time in months I'd called shadow and my brain didn't feel like it was going to either explode or melt and run out my ears. "Richelle is not going to be happy with any of us," I said, giving voice to my first thought. And, "Let's make sure whatever I did to myself is healed then, before we get in over our heads. Three fingers, full out, no live steel!" I threw dust, "Tag!"

This was rather like my first run with Stef; Bobby, nimble little bastard, was actually faster than me, but I knew the terrain. He'd almost taken me down when I called 'tag,' the chase was brutal and bloody and silent after that, except for what noise was unavoidable due to the terrain, which is to say, not much. Even without steel we weren't gentle with each other, Firesworn's call of "Time" found Bobby face down in the road playing dead from an ambush I'd barely pulled off. I helped him back to his feet.

Laughing with his eyes in the silent way of rogues, he grinned at me. "You should not be able to vanish like that."

"Yes, well, getting hit by you shouldn't feel like I was beaten with a brick either. So, think we can work together?"

"If you can keep up. How're you feeling?"

I knew he didn't mean physically, per se. "It's all back, if it wasn't, you'd have had me in the dirt in the first few moments."

His expression change to concern, "What had happened to you? I knew your shadowstep was off –"

"I think I did something to myself getting away from the Wrathgate. Then when I was escaping from Stormwind, I made it worse. I couldn't even call shadows well enough to hide for months."

"Part of that was my fault," said Firesworn, having finally caught up to us. He gave me a haunted, guilty stare. "I think I tapped you while the portal was going up. When you weren't at Stonard when I came through, I thought I'd killed you."

_Perhaps he did tap you_, said Talindor, _but you'd already torn things by making that teleport to Wyrmrest temple. I think if you'd tried to go anywhere else you'd have died. Between the power of the ley lines in that area and Alexstrasza's mercy, you survived, but you ripped things up again getting out of Stormwind. We're going to have to be very careful of your distance warping skills, at least until I can teach you how to teleport properly."_

"So that's why you thought he was dead," said Bobby. "Damn mana addicts. I told you he was alive."

"Firesworn, I'd have given my life gladly simply to be out of there. We were starved and strung out. I don't know how you opened that portal; if you tapped me to do it, I don't care. If I'd died I would have forgiven you in the situation we were in."

"Yes, I believe you would," he said, brushing my hair aside to grasp my shoulder. "But I wouldn't have."

"Heh, beloved. We're both alive," I rubbed my head along his arm. "You can make it up to me later."

"Will you two please not do that?" asked Bobby. "You're like two cats in heat. Please just go work it out between yourselves, you're making me crazier than usual."

"Sorry, Bobby, didn't mean to make you twitchy."

"It's not that. I don't care what you two do with each other, just don't do it around me, okay? It's only slightly less gross than when you flirt with the ladies, Firesworn."

He held up a finger, "Before you go down that road, I like women just fine and I don't have any problems being with them. If I ever become even remotely curious as to what the other side is like, I'll talk to one or both of you. But right now I've got a job to do. I don't need the distractions. I don't need the emotional entanglements. And I don't need anyone else to watch out for, got it? The two of you are enough to give me grey hairs at a tender age as it is."

We were both blinking at him in surprise.

"Go!" he made shooing motions at us. "Go visit the loft, it's peaceful up there. Or go back to your room. I'm washing my hands of both of you for the next few hours. I'll see you around dinner time." He took two steps backwards and vanished into the shadows. I could have traced him, but in the face of his orders, thought that would be a bad idea.

There were Stormwind guards around the house when we got there, so we slipped into the barn instead. Firesworn pulled me into an embrace once I had the door shut, gently nuzzling at my hair. I leaned back against him just savoring the touch of his body. He turned me gently, lifted my chin and kissed me.

Whatever doubts I'd still had vanished with that kiss. I'd never felt anything like its intensity, not physically, certainly not mentally. It was like . . . like coming home. In Firesworn's arms I felt safe and loved and warm and wanted. Wanted not just for sex, but also just for being me.

Even after we broke the kiss, I just wanted to lean into his chest and let him hold me while I listened to his heartbeat. He didn't seem to feel any need to let me go or to hurry things either.

* * *

Talindor's golden eyes were really all I could see of him from whatever convolution he'd made of his space in our head. I beckoned him out. "Come, Tal, I would not shut you out of this."

The golden eyes shut, blinked open again. "I'll overwhelm you, kim'dore, and I don't want to him to know I'm here. Or to hurt you," he added the last as afterthought.

"I'm stronger than you credit me for, Tal. I know you love him and I can feel your pain, come to us, I can't shut you away from this. Come, join me, join us. You will always be welcome."

He flowed across the room to me, shadow taking on substance until he stood beside me, then knelt, offering me again a slashed but bloodless wrist. This time I lifted his head, as Firesworn had done with mine and kissed him, hoping I could share everything Firesworn's kiss had given me.

He shuddered and his arms tightened around me as though I were the only anchor he still had and given our situation, perhaps I was. "Oh, my only hope of the Light," he said, brushing my face, twining his fingers through my hair. I felt him wrap around me like a cloak, an embrace across my back and shoulders – and then Firesworn kissed us and we were lost in the pleasure and the promise of his touch.

I knew I/we were shaking as I led him up to the loft and a quiet back corner of the hay piles were we could be unnoticed and undisturbed.

* * *

Dream and Promise

I'd had roommates before. Usually, though, I could get away from them. Or give them a deathglare and have them leave, at least for the evening. I couldn't do that with Talindor.

For one, he was in my head, his rather malevolent spirit sharing my body. For another, I'd died but for his help. I'd realized it later, when I had a few minutes of both blessed awareness and no one was hovering over me, not even Talindor who'd retreated behind a wall of his own construction.

I'd _died_, bled out on the floor of the House of Purple Hyacinths. Somehow this angry, terrible and yet sometimes gentle spirit who'd describe himself to me as having been one of Arthas' San'layn had anchored me, and bound us together and yes, it did hurt like hell. It had hurt even worse getting pulled back . . . _in_. In was the best word I could think of for the experience. And I think my reluctant roommate had actually buffered me from the worst of it.

_Yes_, he said, abruptly there in the doorway, which would have led to the hall in the real world. I caught a glimpse of red and gold before he stepped further into my room. _But you weren't actually_ "dead though you were well on your way out. Close counts both ways in necromancy."

I don't know which was worse, hearing him in my head as opposed to it suddenly seeming as though we were speaking normally in the real world.

He had no problem with invading my personal space, both literally and figuratively. He was taller than me, taller than Firesworn, with a warlock's goatee and hair like blood and fire with eyes to match. Even after what we'd shared, or perhaps because of it, I found him extremely annoying at that moment.

"Don't loom," I warned him.

"Or what, kim'dore? You'll kill me?" His eyes glittered with laughter.

"I don't think you want to find out if I can."

"Ah, prickly this morning, are we, Nightfrost?"

"I'm surprised you don't just use my true name," I said bitterly. I hate being taunted and that's what it felt like he was doing.

He took a seat on my dresser, folding his legs and peering at me over steepled fingers, while he rested his elbows on his knees. "No. You will tell me eventually, or not. Though I think that is a name you don't even tell yourself anymore. Firesworn has been like that for as long as I've known him."

That startled me. "I would have thought you'd know, if anyone."

He shook his head. "He was just Apprentice No Name. Even the magisters didn't know who he was. I know, I went through the file they had on him," he smirked, but wryly. "It was amazingly sparse. I sometimes wonder if he even knows who he is, but he guards that secret like a prize."

"I don't suppose you have any idea who cut him up?"

"No," his red eyes flared brighter, closer to the shade of fresh blood. "I'd been away from Silvermoon for some years. I'll have to mull on it. And then we'll have to find out if anyone I remember is still alive. If you haven't finished absorbing my personality by the time you find that one, I would very much like to play with them for a bit."

That conjured up some disturbing images, most of which I was fully in agreement with doing. Then he did something alarming with his eyes, like a white film suddenly flowed across them. "Did you ever meet a girl called Zarradice when you were in the orphanage?"

"No," I said. "Why?"

"No matter. She was probably too young. _You_ are too young to be what you are, and yet ..."

"Killing is a remarkably easy skill to learn."

"But what you do with your shadows isn't. All of your magick is very different from mine when I was alive. But there are some interesting similarities between it and what I could do as San'layn. Shadowstepping, yes?"

He just blurred. I threw myself to the side, but he caught me, almost. I slipped under his grasp, his claws laying the back of my wrist open, then I'd snagged his own and deflected his path into a wall. Before he shook off the stun, I 'stepped behind him and hit him with a nerve block. "Tag! You're dead."

I'd actually succeed in startling him and he lay there on the floor, limp and boneless for several moments before gracefully rolling over. By then I'd wrapped my arm, which seemed to stop the apparentl bleeding.

It was then I caught the significance of his pose, if only because I'd seen the members of the white pack playing with each other with similar results. He lay there, unnaturally passive for what I'd seen of his personality, throat and belly exposed.

"Should I stand over you and bare my teeth?" I asked.

His eyes flicked open, flicked away from meeting mine, a strange orangeish color, like a thin film of blood over gold. "No, you're doing that just fine as it is."

"Why do you keep attacking me? I thought the agreement was we're going to share the body?"

"It's my nature? Honestly, I don't entirely know, Nightfrost. Other than that I should not be this much of a separate entity. I gave myself to you; I should be no more than another face to your personality, a group of discordant and unfamiliar memories. Instead – " He sat up, frowning at me. "Instead, I almost think if there were a body, an empty body I would find acceptable, I could still step into it."

He moved with that disconcerting blur I was beginning to be able to track, taking a seat on my bed this time and beginning to leisurely undress. "I shouldn't be this, this 'real' to myself, even if I remained so to you."

"You are going to have to explain yourself to me at some point," I told him. "I'm not at all sure I understand what you're talking about."

"You would have to be San'layn to understand. Perhaps it was because we did it in spirit rather than flesh, but being fully aware of myself as separate from you? That should have ended when my body turned to dust on your lips, kim'dore. I gave you myself, for Firesworn, just as I once killed another of the San'layn and ate his soul. But what you've done with me, I don't understand. Even the Warchief said there were two of us…"

"You did what? And would have let me do that to you? Talindor, are you that suicidal?"

He turned very angry pure blood orbs on me and said, "This is what I am, Nightfrost. This is what would have ripped the last of your soul from your body, but for love."

Every bad thing that had ever happened to me, that I had ever done, or thought of doing, or heard of being done to another, it was all but a shadow compared to what rolled over me now, blackness and cold and despair such as no one should ever have to face alone. And fear, the unshakable certainty that no matter the depth of horror or depravity to which you might sink in trying to drive away that other voice in your head, the one who could control you utterly even when you baulked at His commands, that He would never let you go and never let you rest until you were so tattered you ceased to have any awareness. Against that annihilation, Tal had only one belief that had kept him from being totally subsumed, totally irredeemable and that his love for Firesworn. Where a paladin might have been sustained by belief in the Light, Tal had fastened on his lover. As long as Firesworn was safe from Arthas, part of Talindor remained even when Prince Taldaram of the San'layn had been all the world had seen.

And because Firesworn loved me or at least, lusted after me, Talindor had given me the choice of life or death when every other part of his being had wanted to seize my body for his own and reclaim his lover. When I'd chosen to live, largely because of my need to know if Firesworn loved me too, he'd surrendered his soul, his life energy, to keep me from dying or at least, that's what he thought he'd done.

I stretched out beside him on my bed, in this strange metaphysical place that might exist only in my mind, and kissed him with the same exploration Firesworn and I had shared in the physical world. Whether he was only memory or the separate entity he seemed to be, his lips tasted of blood and fire and his body responded to my touch with an intensity and desire that was uniquely his. He became my lover as totally as Firesworn had. For good or ill I bound myself to both of them and a promise I would find a way to give Tal a body again, just as I was determined to find out who had maimed and tortured the man we both loved and pay them back tenfold for what they had done to him.


	8. Who Hunts the Firesworn Mage continued

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 8, Rough draft started 6/22/10: Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. 6 weeks on the 7th, still no reply … So, who was behind Firesworn's torture and months in the Stockades? Possible reasons and revelations that change the whole direction of the investigation before it fully gets started. MILD SMUT ALERT

* * *

Part 6 continued: Who Hunts the Firesworn Mage?

Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms, Elwynn

"That's why you're fighting me," I said.

I'd awoken with the idea clear in my head; Tal had given me the answer to his random violence toward me in the rush of darkness he'd swept me with earlier. "You can't get away from me either and it reminds you of Him."

I was aware of the San'layn spirit's perfect attention.

"That makes too much sense," he said after a long moment. "He is far too fond of breaking His toys. You are capable of a great deal of violence and enmity, but you are far more careful of your things."

"You are not a 'thing,' Talindor Brightblade and you are not mine."

"And I am pleased you understand that," he said. "There were enough even when I was living who would have placed me in that category. But as for me not being yours? Of that, after what we so recently shared, I am not so certain."

"If you are anyone's, its Firesworn's; we both know that."

He laughed. "Ah, kim'dore, that is simply a given. You are a new addition to what we are together, but you are also the one has put yourself in harm's way, in His way. Whether that was nightmare or projection, you forced Him off. That is not something I can do and certainly even the balances between us."

"Perhaps if you can stop thinking of yourself as San'layn . . . ?"

"Might as well ask Illidan to put aside the Skull of Gul'dan. It changed me and I was hardly paladin material to begin with; perhaps you can help me let it go, but it will not be easy for either of us. But you have claimed me, lover, in front of one who does not release what He thinks of as His, it will bring us problems enough, whether in spirit or the mortal world. Do see if you can talk Firesworn out of bringing that woman along." He rolled against me, running his claws lightly down my body as he captured my mouth in a sudden bruising kiss.

"Give this to Firesworn for me," he said, his eyes like gold and rubies, stoking me intimately.

* * *

Gasping, I jolted into full waking and didn't know where I was.

"Shh, lover," said Firesworn. "Shh, it's alright, we're safe. We're in Richelle's grandmother's barn in Elwynn."

Shaking partly from what Tal had done to me, partly from waking in an unexpected place, I scanned the loft. Nothing more threatening than pigeons and barn swallows showed, so I turned to my mage and passed along Tal's gift. Touching him was so much like a dream I'd had many times in the last few months, and nothing like it at all.

First was just the shock of his skin against mine, just touching, exploring one another in the ways we'd never dared while in prison together. There had only been the warmth of a shoulder or sometime a thigh to rest a head against. Always clothed, always expecting the scant few hours of sleep we allowed ourselves in turn would be interrupted by guards or our fellow prisonmates, knowing one of us always needed to kept an eye on the rest, except when Bobby was in one of his saner spells or when Mo'arg and Slim would insist we actually - read that, Firesworn actually - got more than two or three hours of rest at a time. And the only times he ever seemed to truly sleep was if I held him or he could be leaning against me. Otherwise, no more than an hour to an hour and a half at most and he woke up screaming or nearly so, usually with an attempted casting.

I'd quickly learned I was the only one who could safely counter him in those moments when he wasn't quite awake and caught in the memories of what had been done to him. I'd blundered into the solution to dealing with him while I was still coming down from the bender that had led me into the Stockades in the first place when the fool idea of doing it and my still drunken lack of inhibition prompted me to stop his casting by rolling onto him and seeing what he tasted like, pretty boy that he was and the only other sin'dorei in the place. At the time I'd figured he'd either kill me and I wouldn't have to suffer through my hangover or it'd stop him before he burnt the place down on our heads.

It was the only time it was safe to kiss him and know no one else was going to try to get a jump on either of us, for fire was his element as surely as it was his use name and even with his hands stiff and supported by the splints Bobby carefully crafted from the unlikeliest bits of scrap, fire came to his calling. The only way to successfully stop him was to carefully grab or otherwise imprison those fragile hands and silence him with a kiss, otherwise someone or something of our meager gear would be scorched or burned outright. Any other attempt at grappling with him, even as mild as a hand over his mouth meant a severe bruising at least, if not getting burned anyway, for he would fight like a demon if you tried to restrain him.

Bobby was the only other one who dared stop him. He always came out on the losing end, because he never did anything more than tackle Firesworn, but in turn the warmage never did more than thump the small human off the floor or wall a time or two, while the rogue refrained from drawing the knives or any of the other slivers of metal or bone he had secreted all about his body. Thinking on it, I should have realized Bobby had much more control than he pretended. I'd have been hard put to not fight back if Firesworn had ever tried slamming me around that way.

As our plan of escape had developed I knew every time our mage was actually able to cast put him that much closer to totally draining what little mana pool he was able to maintain. I also knew, at least once my head cleared, how dangerous he'd be if his mana addiction got the better of him and how totally nil our chances of escape would become. Hells, it was dangerous enough for the two of us to even be near each other, but something about my touch soothed him and he could sleep without nightmares. Maybe he was leeching mana from me, but if he did, it was never so straightforward, or painful, as a tap. And, truth was, I only felt safe to sleep when I could feel him near and knew he was keeping watch, but I'd seen what Allies did to sin'dorei they captured and for a long time I tried to pretend it only because of those, when truth was I'd wanted him from the first moment I'd awakened to his concerned gaze.

To do more than simply touch him had been a dangerous, tantalizing fantasy while we'd been in that prison, one I'd played out with myself once I'd recovered enough to be troubled by those things here in Elwynn. In those strange dreams I'd apparently shared with him, I'd come closer to knowing him. But the reality of his body, ah, that was beyond what my limited imagination had provided.

Some of it came recently from the memories I shared with Tal, but those implied a sexual violence between them I was distinctly uncomfortable with; pain has very few points of connection with pleasure to me, pain is generally just pain and something to be avoided. When I hurt someone else it is a final attempt to warn them off or because I'm trying to kill them. Firesworn and I seemed to have decided each other was fragile and it carried over to our lovemaking and that was what it was, lovemaking, not sex, not violent, just gentle and slow, learning what pleased each other until things built to an intensity where slow had no more place and a lack of gentleness was totally appropriate.

* * *

Sometime later, when we again recovered and finished picking the soft grass hay out of each other's hair and other, less likely or comfortable places, we got dressed and went in search of lunch further into the town. It was a rather disturbing realization for me that no one commented or reacted adversely to Firesworn; though the town was full of Stormwind guard and Thrall's Korkron and no one seemed overly concerned with their presence either.

"Makes you wonder how often they have gatherings like this here. It would explain how their wine cellar is so well-stocked," Firesworn commented, around a bite of a Summer Transparent, lovely little apples we'd had pressed on us by the fruit seller, who was apparently now one of my admirers.

We were snacking on them, along with a plate of assorted cheeses and meats and a bottle of wine Firesworn had asked for from the innkeeper in the manner of a man expecting to be disappointed. He'd been amazed when one had been brought forth and gladly paid what I'd thought was an extraordinary amount, until I tasted it. "Makes me wonder how many sin'dorei are actually spies, Scryer or otherwise."

"You're Scryer, I'd think you'd have some idea."

I smiled bitterly. "I've been a Scryer spy, but there's only so much a non-spellcaster, or even a non-mage can learn. Or do, when we're talking about spying in Netherstorm. But of how many us might be quel'dorei spies? I wonder about it more now that the fel is gone from my eyes, if there's some way they know to purge that taint that's less drastic than what I went through or if I really care anymore."

"My eyes have always been green, in case you were wondering, but it's the fel combined with their normal shade that makes them the color of grass." he said softly.

"Firesworn, I didn't mean –"

"I know. I'd rather not be drawing off demonic energies, but I'll do what I have to; so far I've mostly found other sorts, the Naaru are surprisingly tolerant where the Aldor are not. And the Sunwell is healing, perhaps in time having green eyes will no longer be a mark of our people and simply be as unremarkable for us as they are among the other races. I do know I can barely tolerate being in Thrallmar; the very air in the Hellfire Peninsula tastes rotten to me now. Not that it was that good to begin with," his smile was wry. "The apples and the cheese here are excellent though. It's an interesting place you've found."

"Or that found me. Giselle's great-uncle brought me here."

I'd put us under a chestnut tree upwind from the smithy and stables; it was slightly noisy, but there was plenty of shade and a good breeze. And I could see anyone getting close, not that I was concerned for myself any longer, at least not from the villagers or Stef's people. But Firesworn being with me put a different spin on the matter, though the mutilation of his ears was actually in our favor here for there are far more half elves among the 'dorei of the Alliance than with the Horde, though more is a rather relative term for a group which never had large numbers even before Arthas tried to exterminate us all. But, except for the obvious, though faint, fel-glow to his eyes, Firesworn looked less out of place here than I did. I found I missed Bobby and the orc brothers; they were part of the background I expected when being with my mage and it felt oddly incomplete without them somewhere near.

Then Bobby decided to grace us with his presence again. This time he brought Stef and Richelle and Giselle along, in a surprisingly peacefully group. "Strategy time, oh magely general," he announced, taking a point near Firesworn and dropping into what I immediately recognized as bodyguard mode. We might be susceptible to a magickal attack, but no one was going to get close enough to harm any of us by normal means without one of us seeing.

Firesworn gave our guardian madman a fond but appraising look and nodded, then drew his sword slowly enough all of us saw it and weren't startled. He began pacing a circle around our picnic spot. He held the blade at waist height, murmuring something under his breath and making delicate shapes that if I squinted at them just right I could sort of see as faint shadows hanging in the air. It made my head start to hurt, so I looked away, just as Tal hissed a warning at me.

_Stop straining to see them_, he said. _It's a protective ward versus scrying, which means he's blocking anyone trying to watch us magickally from a distance. And you've no need to strain your abilities any more, that game you played with your human along with your romp in the haymow was about your limit. You were supposed to spend today in bed, remember?_

_The time in the haymow should count for part of that, then_, I told him while Firesworn completed the ward. _I did actually sleep. So did Firesworn. And you certainly didn't object._

Tal laughed and fell silent, but I knew he was also listening.

"What was that, Sky?" asked Stef, who'd put himself next to Giselle and me.

Apparently I'd mumbled, not yet comfortable to be talking to Tal without actually speaking. "Muttering thoughts aloud, sorry," I told the SI-7 leader.

"Bad habit in our line of work," he smiled at me, but his eyes were worried.

"Bobby been behaving himself?" I asked softly.

"Other than bedeviling me? I suppose so." He snagged a piece of cheese. "Honestly, it's a shame I can't recruit him; he's too damn skillful to let leave here otherwise, if he was with anyone else but you."

"And I'm trustworthy enough to keep Bobby Twoknives from selling you down the river?"

"Yes," Stef said bluntly. "I don't begin to understand the three of you together, but I do know _you_. And you'll not allow either of them to harm this place or anyone here."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure enough to trust you with these people's lives, with my command's lives. You've fought for us, you put yourself into a sword strike from the Ghost Wolf for the Light's sake to protect people you love. Of course I'm sure."

"And for yourself?"

His blue eyes met mine fully as he whispered, "My life has been in your keeping since the night you killed to protect us, the night we first ran the shadows together."

I sighed, nodding agreement, admitting trust. "And mine in yours. You know me too well, Stef. Knifebrother," I added, pressing one of my blades into his grasp. He took it and threaded it carefully into his hair.

Firesworn sat back down and poured another glass of wine that he offered to Richelle. "So then, Bobby?"

"Brandy," Bobby said, which seemed a non-sequiter until Firesworn slid a flask out of his shirt and tossed it to him.

Giselle squirmed in between Stef and I and wrapped herself against one of my legs. Richelle settled next to Firesworn. Bobby nodded to Stef and silently gave sentry duty over to him.

Our madman turned strategist took a swig from the flask and put his back to the tree. "Okay," he said, "Before we go on this jaunt, we need to pool information. I'm going to rattle through some ideas I have, if it sparks anything thing in your memory, o magely one, please interrupt me. Or if your people have any strange customs regarding feuds or murdering one another that I don't know about yet? Now would be the time to let me and the others know." He gave Firesworn a hard look. "No more holding back. If you keep secrets from us now, it may get us all killed. Or captured by whoever had you taken."

Firesworn looked stricken at that comment and I had to remind myself, he didn't think like us. He was a mage and, apparently, a warrior. We were rogues and assassins; we didn't expect honorable treatment from our enemies.

Bobby leaned back against the tree, dropped the flask into shirt and started, "Given the particular type of damage they did to Firesworn, whoever was behind this was sending a message. It was either to you or to your family or to your associates, be they military or business partners or . . . or a group like us. Whoever had it done must have given very specific instructions not to touch your head."

"Oh, they weren't that particular about it," said Firesworn ruefully.

"Remember, I saw you when they first threw you in. If not, it's very likely if we were still having this conversation, it would be in Hell; you'd have never woken up with what the boys were planning to do to you.

"So, they were careful of your face, let's say. You were bruised purple as a night elf, but they could have smashed the bones, knocked out or just pulled your teeth. Why they hadn't cut out your tongue is beyond me, I know I was mad enough to consider it more than once and not just because I like cutting people up. You couldn't go to sleep without waking up screaming and trying to burn something. At least after Mo'arg and Slim joined us, _I_ could get some sleep occasionally, because they'd wake me up when you threw one of your fits.

"Nightfrost," he looked over at me. "You don't know how damn happy we were to see you. And that was before I recognized you from the Gate."

He pulled the flask out and took another sip. "Anyway, I'm getting off track, quick point is, they wanted you recognizable. And maybe they wanted you to be able to cast or at least try to, but either way you still have all your fingers even through they busted your hands. Hells, you still _have_ your hands and your eyes and various other somewhat necessary manly bits of yourself. You'll never agree, but they were gentle with you. And then what do they do? They throw you into the Stockades where chances were good you'd die, but maybe not. Did they consider maybe not? Did they care? Or was that an attempt to draw in others and perhaps start a raid on Stormwind? And/or get family or friends of yours caught?

"And am I missing something important about why they did that to your ears?" Bobby looked expectantly at Firesworn. "You've never even said if they were trying to get information from you or just doing it for fun."

Firesworn gave Bobby a horrified glare, then returned to looking at a piece of Alterac bubble cheese as though it might contain profound secrets.

Secrets were definitely part of what was going on here and Firesworn had always kept his close.

"They wanted to know who I was," he said and bit the cheese savagely.

"Who you _are_? Or did you really mean, who you _were_?" asked Richelle.

"Who I _was_," he clarified, which wasn't much of a clarification. "Cutting our hair is an insult. Doing anything to our ears is a killing offense. That they left enough of mine for me to be mistaken for half human? Ah, that starts feuds as epic as yours with the lords of Stormwind, Bobby."

He jumped up and started to pace.

Tal hissed softly in my ear, but didn't elaborate on whatever he was seeing in our lover's behavior.

"Except that I can think of no reason under the sun why. The only family I ever had was lost in Northrend at the time. If Arthas was trying to torment him through me, it was a damn roundabout way to do it!" He gestured in what I thought was frustration, but then snapped a word and a pillar of fire incinerated the ground next to him. People stopped all over the square to stare our way. Bobby gave me a stricken, warning stare, but it was Tal's comment of, _His control's gotten much better,_ that truly frightened me. Firesworn resumed his pacing.

"Giselle," I said and she released her grasp on my leg, shifted so that I could move.

_It wasn't Arthas_, Tal continued. _He seemed content to use the implication of what he might do to torment me. If He'd ever had Firesworn I would have known, He'd never have kept it secret from me. _

_If he tries to make a portal, we_ have_ to stop him._

"But who I was doesn't make a fucking bit of sense either. A renegade from Kael'thas' army. A Sunfury officer, a warmage. An apprentice before that. Cutting me up like this might be something I'd expect from the Scryers – sorry Nightfrost – but they didn't ask a single thing about my time with Kael'thas or Illidan Stormrage."

"Could it have been because of other things you did in Outland?" Richelle asked.

He shuddered all over and paused to look directly at her. The look he gave her was warning enough before he said a word. "Oh, Belore, yes, and that might explain why they were so keen to find out who my family was, but if it was for revenge, I'd think they'd have reminded me of what I'd done or ordered done. Or been there themselves to set it in motion."

There was actually a small flame elemental flitting around him and I found myself calculating the distance to the horse trough outside the blacksmith's shop.

"So, the only thing we can be certain of so far is that whoever is behind this doesn't want your blood directly on their hands," said Bobby. "They wanted you humiliated, shamed, and locked up somewhere far from Outland. Or Silvermoon. And very likely killed. You say you don't have any family outside of a lover who was lost in Northrend – did he have family?"

"Tal?" That had deflected Firesworn's thoughts. He actually held still and considered the question.

"I think Tal lost most of his family when Arthas destroyed Quel'thalas. I know he mentioned a few distant relatives were still around, but they were from some other branch of the family. He has – had - a daughter. I'm her guardian . . ."

"Could that be why?"

"No reason I can think of, his estate is hers. I get absolutely nothing out of it, nor would anyone else. Unless she died . . . no, even if they wanted to take me out of my position as her protector, it doesn't make any sense. It's not like I was keeping her directly with me . . . It doesn't explain those damn questions . . . " Exasperated, he threw himself down beside Richelle and chugged about half the bottle of wine. Corking it, he tossed what remained over to me.

"We have watchers," Stef said, his eyes flicking around the square. He nodded and signed /Under control/ to whoever was checking on us.

Firesworn smiled wickedly. "I wish them very little luck. Kael taught me that ward himself."

He immediately shook his head and said something under his breath with enough vehemence Richelle scooted closer and ran a soothing hand across his shoulders. He shuddered under her touch, but didn't attempt to move away.

_Ah, he's never going to forgive Kael for losing me in Northrend. I wish he would, it was not the Prince's fault I was taken_, Talindor said softly.

_You aren't angry with him? After what happened to you? _

_I don't blame Kael for anything until he betrayed Illidan and us. And he was mad by then, so I'm not sure I should curse him even for that. Arthas holds all the blame. He destroyed Kael'thas Sunstrider as surely as he did Anastarian. It just took him longer to lose his soul. _

Do you think it might have had anything to do with your daughter?

_No. Perhaps someone striking at me, someone who didn't know what had happened to me, that I could believe. I had my share of enemies and everyone at the Academy knew Firesworn and I were lovers. But none of them would have cared who Firesworn actually was, except to possibly avoid angering another noble house. He was my shadow, that would have made him a target, but there is something we are missing, Nightfrost, something important . . .  
_  
I took a swallow of the wine.

"Firesworn?"

He met my eyes.

"What _do_ you know about who you are?"

He looked at me for a long, long moment.

"Very little," he finally said, "until I was enrolled at the Academy."

I waited. We all did.

"I don't remember anything of my childhood, Nightfrost. I knew how to talk and take care of myself when I was delivered to the magisters and I could already cast minor spells, but everything that might have pointed to my family was gone. Is still gone. Firesworn is the name Talindor gave me. Someone had me set up with a generous bank account and a sponsorship to the Academy and that was it.

"All of it that ever was. Until I met Tal, I was disowned." His eyes still held mine, but they'd gone bleak and empty.

"Oh, damn, why didn't you ever –" I don't know how I crossed the distance between us, Tal biting off our words and frantically demanding, _Don't tell him I'm here, for the gods' sake, Nightfrost._

_How much longer do you think he's not going to figure it out?_ I snapped back at him, but I was grateful for his presence for I wouldn't have understood without him.

Disowned. Outcaste. His family had erased him from their records as they'd had all memory of them erased from his mind. In the stratification of sin'dorei society, Firesworn had been below even where I had ranked. Until he'd proven himself as a mage and Tal had given him a name. It was a twist to the upper classes I'd been unaware of, but that Talindor had known. We could both understand why he'd never spoken of it until now.

"Not your fault," I told him, pulling him into my arms. Richelle joined me a moment later.

"I wish I knew that for certain," he said shakily.

"Nothing a child could possibly do deserved that being done to you." I shivered in commiseration. They'd erased his life, cut every tie of kinship. I'd lost my family in the fall of Quel'Thalas, but I'd chosen to abandon who I'd been. Firesworn had no choice and likely would have ended a Wretched in Dawning Lane if someone hadn't cared enough to leave him money and a sponsorship. An anonymous sponsorship, but more than they might have done.

What this meant, combined with his torturers trying to find out who he was or who he _remembered_ he was meant a new line of problems for all of us. Without a lot of digging, we might never know why he'd been targeted, but someone out there _did_ know who our firesworn mage was and now for more than just revenge, we were going to find out who they were.

"Someone knows who you are, Firesworn," said Bobby echoing me. "And we're damn well going to find them. And when we do, brother of my heart, I'll let you use my knives."

Firesworn looked up at Bobby and slowly, he smiled. "I'll remember, brother."


	9. Strange Bedfellows

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 9, Rough draft started 7/9/10: Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. 6 weeks on the 7th, still no reply . . .

So, who was behind Firesworn's torture and months in the Stockades? What will they do now that he's back and forming his own mercenary company? And what's Firesworn planning? Where do his allegiances lie? And what will his shadowy family do, assuming they survived the destruction of Quel'thalas? And can Stef and Bobby work together?

* * *

Part 7: Strange Bedfellows

Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms, Elwynn and Westfall

So.

Someone knew or had known who Firesworn actually was. Someone had erased him from their family, but had taken the trouble to provide him both money to survive on and arranged for his training to continue. Someone had still cared, despite the ruthlessness with which they'd removed him. Were they still alive?

Someone else, presumably someone else, had tried to find out or confirm who he was. Or if he _knew_ who he was . . .

"Forgive me, love," I told him.

Stepping forward, figuratively for I still knelt beside him, I did as Bobby had asked and added my thoughts to the mix. "So, we have someone who very much wanted to know who you are or if you remember anything about it. Why and who remain the questions, possibly among others."

Bobby gave me a bright, grateful smile and slipped back into guarding mode. I knew now he was paying far more attention to what was said around him than he pretended, but the bright glitter of one of his knives being idly spun while he looked for someone he could excuse as a target was actually comforting.

I continued, "Possibility the first; did someone lose or had they lost something when Firesworn became guardian of Talindor Brightblade's daughter? Her mother? Other family members, no matter how distant?"

"She's part of paying our obligation to Silvermoon," said Firesworn. "Her birth mother has no claim on the House, no more than my own daughter's mother does on mine, such as it is." His face paled. "Even if I was acknowledged. Or if Kelarria was."

"But other members of her House might have reason not to want you in a relationship with her."

"True enough."

"Bobby covered what I'd originally thought of, that it was someone who, whether they wanted you dead specifically or not, was trying to send a message. And the last possibility I can think of is that it was an irate lover you'd discarded, perhaps for a human or other non-'dorei? Which at least on some levels is a possibility that makes the most sense, given what they had done to you. Everything up to dropping you in the Stockades was more to humiliate than to kill."

"Though in that case, you're lucky they didn't geld you along with clipping your ears," said Bobby and didn't see the horrified and offended glare Firesworn gave him for his blithe comment.

"I can certify nothing of that sort was done to him, rogue," said Richelle unexpectedly.

"Maybe too much sharing, Riche," said Giselle who had come over to lean against my shoulder.

Stef had drawn closer as well. He dropped down onto his heels; his blue eyes steady and studying Firesworn much as he once had watched me. "I think between Bobby and myself, we can find the link to the Stockades. If someone's making people disappear by dropping them into our own prison, we should know who's being placed there and who's doing it."

Firesworn was studying Stef in turn. "You've joined us, haven't you?"

"Sky wasn't going to join my team," Stef said softly. "And you'll need a liaison with SI-7, Commander Firesworn. I'm volunteering, if you'll have me."

Our warmage inclined his head. "Nightfrost trusts you and so, apparently, does Bobby. I'm not fool enough to turn down those recommendations. Stef?"

"Stefan macLachlan."

"Welcome."

"Commander?" I asked.

Firesworn gave a wry smile. "We worked well together. I found a way to keep it going after the orcs at Stonard saw us escorted to the Dark Portal. The boys stayed with us. And they brought family."

"Mo'arg and Slim?" I smiled. I'd liked the two orc brothers."

"Not just the brothers and some of their kin. We have all of them, Nightfrost."

"The humans stayed?"

"Bobby, of course, and Seril Fferdin and the rest. All of them, Nightfrost, and, as I said, they brought family. There's about thirty to the warband now and their assorted support personnel takes it up to about a hundred."

"I kept dreaming of tents in a valley somewhere near Nagrand. I didn't recognize it, but you were always there."

Firesworn nodded. "I knew a valley in the Barrier Hills near the Aldor Rise. A'dal gave us a land grant for as long as we help defend Shattrath and we're clearing out the ogres above the Aldor as well. Neither they nor the Scryers are terribly pleased about it, but with the Shattar's approval, there isn't much they can say about us."

"You pulled off forming a mixed mercenary company? Blessed Lady Sun, Firesworn, don't you ever sleep?"

"Actually, no," said Bobby. "He doesn't, not nearly enough. But that's your problem now. I've been keeping him from burning the camp down, you can damn well take over for the rest of the year."

He gestured at the air where Firesworn had drawn his circle and patterns. "Can we walk through that without hurting ourselves?" he asked.

"Yes," said Firesworn. "It was just to keep others from watching us by magickal means or listening in."

"Come on, then, Seven. It's a long ride to Stormwind." He started walking backward, watching Stef.

"Now?"

"Suit yourself, it's not like I should just leave without you, but yes, now would be nice. Firesworn and Nightfrost and the ladies need private time. And Nightfrost needs to remember he's not bloody immortal and finish healing up if we're riding anywhere. I don't fancy another trip through a portal, no offense, o magely one, but I think a second visit to the Swamp would end badly for our truce with the Horde."

"And I think the Alliance'd be put off a bit if I opened one to Nethergarde Keep. I'll make sure he rests."

"Richelle," said Stef, "Make them both rest, if you can. Nightfrost, you're off rotation, just make sure no one grabs your friend again. Sylvi's my Second; you can keep in touch with us through her. Giselle, don't forget to practice."

"Good hunting, brothers mine. Don't kill each other."

"What? I told you, I don't have time for complications, _Sky_." Bobby gave a wicked emphasis to the name Giselle had given me and vanished. He was far enough away from me; I couldn't see the odd distortion of a shadows' cloaked rogue to track him and had only minor inclination to pursue, though I was left wondering what he meant by complications this time. Certainly it was a sign my life was getting too complicated when I had to analyze anything Bobby Twoknives said. In truth, I was tired, but my mind was buzzing with evolving plans and an overall simmering anger I needed to find a release for before I'd be able to calm myself.

I gave Firesworn's leg a gentle squeeze and picked myself up off the ground. "I'm going back to the House. I don't care what they are doing at this point, I want to go back to my room."

Firesworn nodded and lifted a hand into the air, murmuring something Giselle's gift did not translate, but I felt the change around us. He'd dropped his spell and reabsorbed some of its energy.

_He's easily as powerful as I was now, perhaps moreso_, said Tal. _But he looks exhausted. I can easily believe your pet human when he says Firesworn isn't sleeping._

_He looks like I feel after one of my Wrathgate dreams. I don't know. Could we have triggered some defenses against him probing at his past memories?_ I asked. _And Bobby's no more a pet than you are and, no, don't even go down that road. _

Tal chuckled, his voice sensuous, like warm fur against bare skin. _You do look at the other one that way, if only because he reminds you of Firesworn. _

_You are a lecherous beast,_ I told him.

He laughed outright. _I know what I like_. He stepped suddenly into being, once again drawing that sensation of fur down my back, this time with the faintest hint of claws.

"Nightfrost, are you alright?" Firesworn's voice was concerned, his arm a support I found myself leaning on, his other hand on my shoulder.

I took a deep breath, pushing Tal away on a mental level. _Leave me be or I'll fall down in the street._ "I think I'm drunk," I said. "I haven't had any alcohol since before Stormwind."

"And your body's still recovering from blood loss," said Firesworn in sudden understanding. "Damn, I was an idiot. Just lean on me. I'll get you home, if I have to carry you."

"I'm not that drunk," I protested.

_Ah, but you are_, said Talindor, gold eyes filmed with a haze of red. _Now, you should_ Sleep, _kim'dore._

Nightfrost would have fallen bonelessly to the floor of his mental room, but his flame haired 'roommate' caught him and lifted him easily into bed. _Your mind also needs rest. Sleep, my rogue, I will risk a little to see our beloved more closely_, he whispered to the younger elf. He tucked the quilt around the sleeping spirit, a faint fondness showing in his smile before he took full control of their body for the first time.

* * *

Talindor Nightfrost stopped and stretched, Firesworn still keeping a balancing hand on him. For the moment, it was enough simply to breathe again, to feel a mortal body around him like a warm blanket. It was a more solid, anchoring feeling than he'd expected, he felt more 'real' to himself than he had even in his own, albeit undead body.

The sunlight felt good and the breeze riffling his hair and the alcohol relaxed muscles and sent a giddy warm glow throughout. Firesworn's hand was solid and comforting. He could feel the change in heartbeat and the response of this body to his awareness of his lover. "Belore," he said, tilting his head back to look at the sun for the first time in a handful of years that felt like they'd stretched on to eternity. For the first time in those years, the word wasn't spoken as a curse.

"Nightfrost?"

"Firesworn. Beloved." He could lose himself in those eyes and very nearly did. "Maybe I _am_ that drunk." He was certainly becoming more and more aware of this body he wore, feeling a tingling rush that threatened to overwhelm him.

His gaze slipped past the warmage, who was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and worry to the huge chestnut tree and the smithy beyond. Sunlight, no ice, no white, but browns and greens and the warm smell of earth and growing things; blessed mother Sun, flowers and, was that a butterfly?

And a very annoyed human girl, glaring murder at him. Her fingers flashed in rapid movement and he realized he understood what she was telling him. /Put it back./ No, not 'it,' put 'him' back.

Realizing he could, he signed back, /Sleeping./

/Who _are_ you?/

/Later, not now./

/Yes, now!/

He was aware he'd already lost control of the situation and very nearly the body he was in. /Drunk. Not hunting you. Or him. Friend./

It was all he could manage, other than to grab Firesworn's arm and say, "Very drunk. Take me to bed?"

His mage and _that_ woman caught him. He didn't even feel like glaring at her. Firesworn would get him home. He always did; it was safe now to just go with the rush.

"Damn," said Firesworn. "He's drunk as a fop. How is it I always end up carrying my lovers home? At least he doesn't weight anything." With Richelle's help he slung his friend over a shoulder. Giselle trailed behind, glaring and planning.

* * *

Stef and Bobby

Later, Somewhere in the woods, Elwynn Forest

"I just want to know if you're going to give it one hundred percent, Seven," Bobby's eyes were cold with neither his bright mad humor nor the invitation that usually accompanied his choirboy smiles.

Stef regretted his decision to travel with the Defias assassin, but it was too late to back out now. "What do you mean, one hundred percent?"

"Are you going to put yourself into this or are you just going to go by the book? For if you are, I can find out what I need to know faster without the problems you tagging alone will cause."

"Sky . . . no, Nightfrost is my knifebrother. I'll do no less for him than if we were born of the same parents." Stef laughed, a quick, bitter bark. "Probably more. No, certainly more."

"And for his lover, who may have come between you?" It felt like those eyes were measuring his soul.

"He's in love with him. I missed seeing what happened, but you don't step into a sword for just anyone and whatever else he is, Nightfrost's not suicidal. That's not lust. That's something a lot stronger. And Nightfrost and I are just friends, it's not romantic, and besides, whoever did that to Firesworn might try the same thing with him. Or Richelle. I want whoever did it dead before they can do that or worse to anyone."

He rubbed a hand across his face and yawned. "Damnit, I'm tired. Look, Bobby, I don't know what else to tell you about your warmage. I just met him. He seems like he knows what he's doing, at least when he's not around Nightfrost. I just know Nightfrost has more ethics and more honesty than you find in some paladins. I trust him. And he trusts Firesworn and I haven't seen anything to show that trust is misplaced." He yawned again. "What I can say about Firesworn, just on what my gut tells me, is that no one deserved what he had done to him. My childhood sucked, but at least I can remember there were some good times mixed into it. Someone took that all away from him. At the very least, they deserve a good beating."

"What they deserve," said Bobby, blending into the shadows so that only his voice could be heard, "is for someone to do the same thing to them, only slowly, so they know what they're losing. Go to sleep, Stef. I'll wake you in a few."

"Night, Bobby."

He hadn't thought it would be possible, but he felt safe now. Hoping his friends were also safe back in the village, he pulled blankets around himself and quickly let himself relax into sleep.

* * *

Elsewhere . . .

It had been a message

It wasn't a message to Firesworn or to Talindor Brightblade.

It was a message to Firesworn's _father_ . . .

Firesworn's father had cast him out. Had never acknowledged him, but it didn't mean he didn't keep track of his bastard son. Or that he didn't care.

But over the years, his unacknowledged child had proven adept at escaping bad situations and making unlikely but strong alliances. He'd been almost ready to enable an extraction team when Firesworn had proven himself once again and escaped the Stockades. Pleased and proud he had been and relieved not to have been forced to show his hand, but he was well aware the other player in their long game was equally likely to target his son again as not, and he kept a more active watch. Until his enemy was deflected from thinking the younger elf made any sort of useful pawn, he would keep a closer guard.


	10. Stormwind and Elwynn Forest

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 10, Rough draft started 7/13/10: Still don't own WoW, letter for writer's guidelines sent out May 26th though. 6 weeks on the 7th, still no reply . . . still a rough draft as of 2/3/11, but I'm sick of poking at it, rewrote a big section recently, but I'm still not happy. Let me know what you think... Remember, this is set after Fall of the Lich King but before Cataclysm.

* * *

Part 9: Stormwind Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms, Elwynn and Westfall

Stef and Bobby

The Mage Quarter, which was more like a sixth of the city when combined with the Park, had gone from being one of the most difficult areas of the city to reach to one of the most accessible with the expansion of Stormwind's habor. Bobby knew both areas intimately, having actually helped build part of the harbor while planning his next assassinations, and was adept at shifting between the two, shedding dockworker or fisherman disguises for the more respectable clothing of those who worked in trades or direct service to the mages. Stef was skilled, but he'd learned more about working their craft in a city from Bobby in the week they'd been there than he'd been able to pick up in a year of monthly trips to the capital to turn in reports and work with the masters at SI-7. Of course, full immersion training always worked best, if you survived it.

Bobby was determined Stef was going to survive it.

In the odd hours they weren't on the streets or alleys or negotiating with the various contacts the Defias assassin had in the Undermarket, they would be working pick up jobs on the docks or pretending to drink in the apprentice-frequented bars of the mage quarter or watching the street performers or, once again, fishing. And nights belonged to the Rogues' Highway and more information gathering. And constantly, Bobby was giving a bit of advice, a correction to a disguise, a thousand different things throughout the long days and longer nights while they pieced together connections.

Finally, when they were lying in an alley pretending to be war veterans sharing a bottle, watching for an informant they were hopeful would finally unlock the connection between the Defias, a certain Stormwind fixer, and the Stockades, Stef asked, "Why the non-stop education, Teacher?"

Bobby smiled, looking at him sidelong and passing over the bottle. "Shaw isn't going to live forever."

Stef tipped the bottle, wetting his lips with the cheap wine. "And to you, this means?"

"Someone needs to be ready. This is a young man's game on the streets. Only a learned, clever man - or woman - makes it off them. I've seen more Sevens and Defias dead because they just refused to learn than from anything else. You're good, but you need to be better. Sky –" they never referred to Nightfrost by his working name – "has taught you for outside work. You need to be that good here as well."

Stef passed the bottle back. "I appreciate the training, but we both know which side of things I'm on."

"Of course," there was more than a trace of bright madness in Bobby's smile now. "If ever things all go off in a handcart, I'll be back here. It'll be nice to know I have to keep on my toes. You call me Teacher, but you're better at that game than I am. So is Sky. Your village; I expect I'll find people from there all over when I come back. They're talented, it'll be fun working."

He actually took a swallow of the wine. "Ack, rat piss. Why did I buy that? Oh, yes. Local color." Bobby sighed and handed it to Stef again. He rolled an eye at the other's expression. "Nothing there I have any reason to mess with, Jaffo; Nightfrost would kill me if I even thought of it. Stormwind is my hunting ground. Remember that, and keep your people clear if nobles start coming down with the metal flu again."

Bobby Twoknives shook himself and stood up. "And teaching you keeps me busy, Stef," he whispered into the other man's ear after giving him a hand up and a mock drunken embrace. "It damn well hurts to be in this city. My focus wants to be elsewhere and I want to be in Westfall. Or anywhere else."

He stiffened just the slightest fraction and his voice changed to a chill whisper, "And like a gift of the Light, there's our target." Lifting his voice, he added, "Love ya, man. Brothers forever."

"Brothers forever!" Stef yelled back with a drunken slur. He stumbled off, weaving only a little, settling his clothes like someone who's come down in the world, but once knew better times. He walked out of the alley, called shadow around him when he saw the street was empty and went up the outside of the nearest building like a cat. Within moments he was back, giving Bobby support from the rooftop.

The dark haired Defias assassin was talking with their target, nothing wrong there. Stef let his eyes drifted, looking for movement, for the out-of-place, for the in-place that was _wrong_. Just the faintest shift in the breeze, scent of garlic and ale . . . Stef folded and rolled, catching himself on the edge of the roof, coming up with a fan of slivers and almost letting them fly right into the face of one of his SI-7 teachers. He saw the recognition on the other's face and barely managed to put them into the slates of the roof instead.

"What th' fuck you be doin,' runnin' cover for Bobby Twoknives, MacLachlan?" the man hissed at him.

"Crown business," Stef hissed in response.

"Oh, you are shittin' me."

"Light's own truth."

The other man shook his head minutely, "An' you expect me to believe that? Nah, nah, I'm not such a great fool. How much did they pay you, turncoat? How many are dead because of you?"

"Damnit, Hobbes, I didn't turn."

Stef could see he wasn't getting through to the older man. There was one option left or someone was going to be bleeding out on the slates. He shifted the reed he carried in his mouth and stepped backward off the roof, whistling two notes even as he fell. Until he could get to SI-7 headquarters in Old Town, he had to warn Bobby and lose Hobbes. He was praying his teacher would think a turncoat was an even bigger threat to Stormwind than Bobby Twoknives.

He guessed right. The thiefhunter's crossbow ripped through the edge of his leathers and rebounded off the bricks of the nearby building. He tapped the wall just enough to slow himself before he hit and rolled. His mental map of this part of the city was sharper than it had been; he cut toward the harbor, twisted around and under a parked wagon, rolled out between the tongue and a wheel and into a side alley, really just a narrow spot between two buildings, three steps down and through the semi-hidden escape door of a well-to-do brothel.

Pull off his jacket, muss his hair. Kiss one of the girls and give her a friendly grope, which earned him a slap and a, "You go pay the madam, if you want some more of that fun, artful boy." Out the front door, past the bouncer who looked at him doubtfully, his jacket rolled and tucked under one arm. Walk, don't run, never run. Don't call shadows either; against his now definitely former teacher, it would just make him more noticeable.

Try not to jump out of your skin when a ship's officer suddenly falls into step beside you, offering a banana from one of the vendors. "Peel it slow, street boy," the man said in a drawling voice, "suck on it. Let me see if you're worth the price your pimp's asking."

Stef gave the other an askance glare, wondering who he'd been mistaken for or if this was another Seven, one he didn't recognize.

There were wet spots in the dark weave of the peacoat the man was wearing and a gash across the back of his hand. "Leaving," said Bobby in a more normal, though edgy whisper. "What a wonderful idea."

"I've got us a room in one of those Goldshire pleasure houses, little stud," he continued in that drawling voice. "Prove yourself there and you won't be working the streets any longer."

Stef flushed, but nodded, going along with the game for now, aware there were watchers about. Slowly, he began peeling the banana.

* * *

Nightfrost, Firesworn and Richelle

I woke, as I often did these mornings, to the sound of Richelle's warm laughter as Firesworn shared some story with her. I spent a moment just enjoying the beauty of her, the lush fall of her black hair, the curve of hips and ass and fine, full breasts. She was once again wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned as of yet. And as it was every morning, my body was more than interested in her and in Firesworn as well as he brushed out his uneven mane in a patch of sunlight.

"Shorel aran, Nightfrost," Firesworn said.

"Greetings to you too, lover. Both of you are beautiful this morning."

Firesworn laughed, low and velvety, "I was going to ask you if you felt up to riding today." He looked at me though the veil of his dark lashes. "I'd almost consider that an invitation to another sort of ride, but –" he sighed regretfully, "we have a long trip ahead of us, if you think you're well enough to start."

"Richelle's still coming along?" Tal asked before I could stop him. His command of the Alliance's common tongue was considerably better than mine and in calmer moments he worried Firesworn would notice, but not now, apparently.

"Of course I am, silly," she replied "But before we go, it's time we settled something between us." She rolled over onto me, pinning my legs. Tal froze in shock and she was straddling our… my hips … before I forced him aside and had control again. It was only a moment, but by then it was far too late.

I looked into her brown eyes; close enough to see the golden flecks within them. We were close enough I breathed her breath, shared her body heat and scent and…. _"Oh hells' no!"_ said Tal and retreated into that part of my mind that was his alone, even the sense there was a door connecting our two "rooms" all but completely gone.

I kissed her. It's not like I'm made of stone. But then I put her in a hold she was enough of a rogue's daughter to know not to force. "Richelle?"

Firesworn made a little hissing noise, but otherwise kept silent.

"Are you going to be alright with this?" she asked.

"With you sitting on me or with you coming along?" My body had definite ideas regarding the first part I was trying resolutely to ignore.

"With me being with Firesworn. I didn't intend to come between you."

"I don't think you have," I was startled. It just hadn't crossed my mind, but humans think differently about pairings. "We're still working out if there's anything to come between, but what's between you and he hasn't changed how I feel about him. Or you."

"Oh, I think we already know there's something," Fireworn said softly.

"You aren't using him to get to me, are you?" I asked as the thought came to me, searching her face. If she was going to treat him like that…

"I… " It was her turn to be startled, then thoughtful. "No, I don't think I am."

She looked over to my mage and her eyes softened. "No, what was shared in kindness and comfort was never intended to be used as a tool to hurt either of you. What was it you said? I want to see how much of my life I want to share with you. With both of you."

She blushed slightly, but continued, "I know that make me sound slutty in my society and I don't know what it means in yours, but I can't just attach myself to Firesworn without considering you as well, Sky. I didn't stop wanting you. And Fire," she smiled at him, "I know he wants to be with you."

"I'm pervy enough to admit I would be happy to share both of you," he said, a small smile touching his lips. "And I know this is just asking for all flavors of jealousy to flare up. You are both my friends, both my lovers. The last thing I want is to put you in a situation where you are going to end up hating each other."

"I could see myself being jealous of you spending time together away from me," Richelle said softly. She had started stroking my hair, but I'm not sure she was really awake she was doing it. "I'm not an elf, there's so much I don't have in common with either of you."

"You are gentle and wonderful and everything I desire in a woman, Richelle. And Firesworn is … my heart's own," I whispered, knowing it was true, made that much stronger by Talindor's own fixation on him. "I still won't lie with you until I can give you a home, m'lady, but I'll not begrudge you being with him."

Firesworn was looking at us both with his eyes shining, perhaps with unshed tears, and a look of wonder and affection on his face.

"Sky, just love me, please," she asked and kissed my throat, her hair a spill of black silk over my face and chest, her body warm and firm and welcoming against mine. As simply as that, I was hers. Was it love? I was no more certain than when I lay with Firesworn, but it was lust and caring and a feeling of completion as if some wounded part of me was healed, something of my spirit finally rewoven.

Whole.

It made me feel whole as I hadn't since my mother had last held me, fussing gently with my hair and jacket on that last day, father smiling across at us from his loom, fabric forming in the deft flash of the shuttle . . . I shivered and held her closer, able to look at that memory again without instantly shying away.

Family.

It felt like family and was made moreso when Firesworn leaned in and kissed us both in turn, his narrow angular face lit with a smile that – rare for him – was bright and free of shadows. "So? Think you're well enough to ride today?" he asked innocently and licked my shoulder.

"Try me," I replied and pulled him in with us.

So. We didn't get on the road until after lunch, gifted with three riding horses and supplies for a week if we were careful. Fire was quietly delighted with his mount, but he was old enough to have ridden the quel'dorei steeds that were now reserved only for the blood knights. I wasn't so certain about mine, but the jog-trot was a two-beat stride similar to a hawkstrider's and with the saddle I didn't have to balance constantly, which was a relief and actually pleasant as the afternoon lengthened. Two of the white dogs had been sent along with us and one of Stef's Sevens acted as guide to the edge of the village's buffer zone before stepping back into the trees and vanishing.

* * *

Giselle had pulled me aside before we left, wrapping around my chest in a fierce hug, then speaking firmly, not to me, but to Talindor. "You teach him Common and whatever else you know, Red Eyes," she ordered. "Don't you get him hurt. Don't get Richelle hurt either. I know you don't like her. I will _pound_ you if anything bad happens to her."

I had a momentary image of her sitting on Tal's chest, whaling away, and had to smother a chuckle. I caught a flash of his annoyance with me as he considered the girl's warning.

_May I?_ Tal said, but the gentle shouldering aside was proof he was going to answer whether I wanted him to or not. We knelt, setting Giselle on the floor. "Little one," Tal said, his voice a whisper subtly different from my own being deeper than I usually spoke, studying her through my eyes; which was an odd feeling indeed. "I could not. My beloved loves both of them and though it hurts me, I will not turn my anger on either of them."

"How can I be sure?" she demanded, glaring suspiciously at us.

"You understand jealousy," he said in a moment of insight I hadn't expected from him. "When your sister married the first time, I imagine you were so mad she was being taken away from you. I feel that way too, about the two of them with my firesworn mage. But, you found out she did still love you. I haven't gotten that far yet, but this one," – there was a clear sense his regard flicked to me, even though we weren't currently sharing that space where he was real enough to touch – "has risk his existence for me; done so willingly, to my great surprise. He has a disturbing empathy, even for me, knowing what I am better than anyone else ever has, not even Fire."

He turned back to her fully, "If he can do that for me…" He shrugged, for a moment at a loss as to what Giselle would accept. "I promise you, I will not by action or inaction do anything to harm your sister or this one you call Sky. I am Talindor Brightblade and I swear this to you."

She looked at him, at us, hard, chewing her lower lip. "I believe you," she said after a long minute swept by.

Tal nodded and released control to me, retreating to the back of our shared room.

"Come back to me," she'd said simply and kissed my nose before running back into the house.

* * *

I was thinking of her, wondering whether she'd still feel that way about me whenever fate brought me back to her village, when we came upon another village after a long afternoon of riding. I was sore and tired already and well aware Fire had been setting an easy pace largely because of me. He had pulled up and was studying what we could see of the little town, this one home to woodcutters by the look of the land around it full of large stumps with carefully spaced young trees in much too ordered a pattern to have sprung up naturally.

It was a sprawled out place along a rush of frothy river, a smithy and stables, a sawmill and lumberyard, three taverns and a general store on a sidetrack off the main road, plus a dozen or so other shops catering to the lumberjacks, buildings that seemed like barracks and cottages, and several large barns scattered in a more random pattern around the core of the town. It looked clean and prosperous. And full of chickens, both running loose and in various types of pens.

It also had a town guard who seemed to be drawn from the ranks of the woodcutters, for they were armed with axes and clad in the heavy working clothes of their fellows, denoted from them by a sash of Stormwind blue and yellow. Three were standing duty near the main road and we saw two patrols making their way around the outskirts. A palisade wall encircled one large house and its attendant barns and sheds and there were guards there as well, these in a livery of lighter blue with a device in a dark red like two wolves or stallions rearing, but too far away to see clearly.

The lumberjack guard were suspicious of strangers, though the horses and, to my surprise, the dogs being with us seemed to do a lot to alleviate their concerns when we had finally ridden down and approached them. Firesworn had done nothing to conceal the color of his eyes and they were none too happy about that, but Richelle and I being with him seemed to confuse the matter, as did whatever was in the papers he produced – not our pardons, but something else heavy with the seals and ribbons of Silvermoon.

"The inn's over there," one of them allowed grudgingly. I gathered the gist of his words more from the direction he pointed than by understanding them, for his voice was heavy with an accent not of Elwynn; Redridge perhaps, or northern Duskwood.

He added something else; I thought it was about leaving or not leaving, to which Firesworn replied easily, "Of course," and turned his mount toward the inn and the large barn and pasture next to it. Horses already in the field trotted to the fence whinnying greetings as we drew near. The stable master came out to meet us, blinking in surprise to find two elves among his customers.

I slid down, wincing as my feet hit the ground. A day of riding is not something even the most full out of nights of roof running truly prepares you for and I ached. Firesworn remained mounted, watchful, and let Richelle handle making the arrangements for our horses. This she took care of with quiet certainty, then left us to secure lodging at the inn while Fire and I stripped off the tack and turned the horses out in the pasture with the others, all the time under the confused watch of the stablemaster and his help. Firesworn then picked up his bridle, saddle, and blanket and waited while I did the same. Once I had the horse equipment, along with my saddlebags, he nodded and led the way to the inn. "Better chance our horses will still be outside, if we need to leave in a hurry," he said in a low tone as we neared the inn. "And we won't have to hunt for tack or find it was damaged. I had a girth cut to break on me once, it wasn't fun."

From the sign outside, the place was likely called the Blue Ox or something along those lines. Seemed odd for a place that obviously was a timber town, but perhaps they used oxen as well as horses and mules for pulling the logs out of the woods to the mill. Dinner was a chicken stew, far too thick with noodles and chunks of meat to be called a soup. A good loaf of sourdough bread went with it and dark ale. Crisp apples rounded the meal out.

While we ate, I watched the locals and listened as they tried to listen in to us. Finally, as we neared finishing, one of the men came over and asked if we had news or so I guessed, for first Richelle and then Firesworn spoke at length. Once he started talking, Firesworn soon had questions being asked, apparently about the prices of lumber and certain rare woods. I heard Booty Bay mentioned several times, but though I kept one ear on the conversation and was sort of able to follow the flow if not the context, I was mostly watching the not-quite crowd for possible trouble.

Eventually, we were able to escape to our room. Firesworn did some incantation versus vermin and then some other magick, one of his warding spells he said, which quieted things.

"Are we going to have problems?" I asked as I cleaned the horses' bits and the leather of their bridles.

"I don't know. What did you think of the audience?"

"There were several by the bar who kept looking daggers at us and drinking courage."

He nodded. "War veterans. They still see the quel'dorei as traitors. We'll keep watches tonight."

"I'll take first watch then," I said and slipped out into the hall with my work. I wasn't sure how I felt about being left alone with Richelle even after the morning I'd spent with her and Firesworn. I was feeling guilty over coming so close to breaking my oath, but I had both of them to protect, so I distracted myself with what I was actually supposed to be doing and listened to the slowly-thinning group downstairs while I put a showman's gloss on the leather of our horses' bridles. Thorn, one of the pair of white dogs with us lay curled at my back in quiet companionship.

I ached too much to doze, though I was weary from the ride, but the crowd was entertaining enough to keep me awake until the wee hours. There were some raised voices at closing time, but eventually the patrons were shooed out and the inn locked up for the night. A single man well into the local ale, a merchant from his looks, came wobbling up the stairs and took one of the rooms at the top of the landing. Some time later, the innkeeper and his wife came up. They seemed surprised to find me in the hall and offered me my own room, which I managed to politely decline.

"Good man," said the woman, surprising me. "Your charge will sleep the better, knowing you're keeping watch." At least, I think that's approximately what she said. They both wished me a good night of it and took the other room right off the landing, leaving me on guard at the top of the stairs and the rest of their household in the common room or the kitchen and pantry below. At least one pair had a pleasant bit of grope and tickle going for a while until they surprised me by seeking out separate sleeping areas.

Firesworn came out just as I'd been thinking it was about time to rouse him. He was dressed for the coming day, but didn't look concerned and after speaking to me about what I'd observed, sent me to bed.

That meant a choice of the floor or the warmth and relative comfort of the straw-stuffed mattress and Richelle. "Don't be an idiot, Sky," she said sleepily. "You don't do anything when you're asleep." She was still wearing her silk undershirt and trousers.

I had to chuckle at her observation. Then I pulled off my jerkin and lay down beside her, still mostly dressed as well. She spooned against my side, snuggled her head on my shoulder and went back to sleep.

It felt good to be holding her, I thought and that was the last thing I remember thinking before the click of the latch woke me, curled around the warmth that was Richelle, one of my arms held to her chest as she cuddled around it in turn.

"Ah, my loves," said Firesworn. "Time to wake up, they're starting to make breakfast down below."

"You were supposed to have woken me up," Richelle told him accusingly.

"Time enough for that when we're on the road," Firesworn said, rummaging in his pack and pulling out a brush, which he promptly began sweeping though his hair. We did the same and after a quick trip to the outside jakes were ready for breakfast which proved to be eggs scrambled with a touch of fresh milk and lots of local sauces, one of which would have done justice to a goblin barbecue. There was local ale and cider and decent black bread and a crock of soft cheese to spread on it.

Richelle bargained for a loaf of the bread and also procured a bowl of the scrambled eggs without the sauces for the dogs and then we were off to the pasture to whistle over our mounts. They might have played tag, but Thorn and Rose circled them over to us and nosebags of oats sealed the bargain. My thighs ached from the day before and lifting my leg over the saddle let me know there were muscles my other training definitely hadn't prepared for this, but I got mounted without too much trouble despite it.

Then we were on the road, starting at a walk until all of us, horses and riders and dogs were warmed up, then setting an easy two-beat trot while the dogs ranged around us. We alternated trotting and walking most of the morning, stopping once by a bridge to stretch and let the horses nibble and drink. And so we continued, with about an hour's pause for lunch and a second break in the mid-afternoon. There were a few riders and cartloads of produce making their way to and fro, more the farther west we traveled into more heavily farmed land and once, on the third day, a group of cavalry, who scared me white by circling us with lances down until Richelle got them calmed down by waving our papers at them and telling them they were being idiots. They didn't like that much, but had to agree guilty parties were more likely to have run at the first sight of them; something I would have done if I'd been alone and still was inclined to do at the first opportunity. I was cursing my lack of their common tongue, while the troopers crowded us and Firesworn and Richelle argued with their officer, but they finally backed off and left us with only a token guard of two riders, who escorted us the rest of the way to the town of Goldshire and the capital city beyond.

It was absolutely terrifying to ride into the city at the very gate I'd fled out from six months or more before, but my friends didn't seem to notice I was being any stranger than usual and the guards let us pass and were exchanged for a single rider who led us to a house in what seemed to be the nobles' or wealthy quarter of the city. Firesworn asked us to wait outside. "Better they don't see your eyes," he warned me quietly in Thalassian, before being escorted inside. "Go to the king if I'm not out again within the hour and tell him or his representative the Silvermoon embassy has overstepped their bounds. They'll know what it means. Then you can come back and get me out."

"Firesworn, do you really think I'll let you go in there alone after telling me that?"

"Of course I do, because that's how it has to be done." he said matter-of-factly and handed me a timepiece.

I was convinced both it and the sun had undergone a most unnatural slowing before he came out again looking annoyed, but otherwise unharmed. The guard led us back by the same route to the Heroes' Gate and then left us to ourselves, having apparently no further orders regarding us. It was late in the evening when we finally reached Goldshire Town again and I think I had been shaking from the moment we left the gate. It wasn't until Bobby and Stef found us that I finally felt somewhat safe again.


	11. Westfall: Broken Hearths

**Rogue Magick: Stealing Home or the Return of Nightfrost**

by Rillan macDhai

Chapter 11, Rough draft started 3/9/11: Party reconnects and heads for Westfall. Apologies for the very long delay in posting this.

LINE BREAK

**Part 10: Broken Hearths **

**Azeroth, the Eastern Kingdoms, Elwynn and Westfall**

Firesworn led us back to Goldshire, only about an hour's walk from Heroes' Gate and we were traveling considerably faster. My head was whirling with all the new things I had to consider, including the fact that Firesworn was some sort of courier or was at least acting as one at the moment. Some of the shanty town that had stretched along the walls in early spring seemed to be gone, though admittedly, I'd had a very brief time to notice it was there at all.

"Well, Ambassador," I teased him once Stormwind was lost behind us in the trees of Elwynn. "What was that all about?"

"A packet of deliveries for our embassy here in the city from the Scryers and the Regent Lord," he smiled thinly, as though something about it didn't quite amuse him. "I needed some excuse to be traveling through Alliance lands and that was simple enough to gain, since I'm known to both factions and they needed a courier. The Safehold, the valley in Outland, is neutral territory after all. Having A'dal vouch for my reliability certainly didn't hurt."

"The leader of the Shat'tar vouched for you?"

Firesworn smiled, more a baring of teeth than a true smile. "I have some very odd friends. You and Bobby aren't the only ones."

"I'm going to have to learn more Thalassian," said Richelle into the pause while I considered Fire's words.

That I could understand. "I hope you have better luck than I have," I told her and our mage dropped back into the common tongue of the Alliance lands. Before he did, he looked at me and said, "There are some things I can do to aid your understanding, but you are going to have to work hard at this, Nightfrost. It is like learning sums, but not so straightforward."

I frowned. Learning sums, beyond the most basic levels of adding, subtracting, multiplication and division had been something as elusive as stringing together words in another language for me.

_I will help you_, Talindor said, lounging beside me as he had not for most of the trip. _There is a structure to it, patterns I might help you see_.

_Ah, my lodger speaks up_, I teased him, uncomfortable with the whole idea.

The glare he gave me promised eventual revenge, but he settled for a toothy smile. "You can not afford being ignorant," he said. "Nor can I." He cut himself with one of his claws and wrote something in the air between us with his blood.

I thought I should have felt something, a sudden stab in my head, a pressure, a rush of noise, but there was nothing. "What did you do, firey hair?" I asked him.

He looked back at me, white-streaked mahogany strands settling around his shoulders like a cape of dark flame, while he licked the blood slowly from his fingers. "I'm widening the stream, if you will, making it run in a deeper channel. You have a visualization of how water seeps across dirt." He made a face much like my mother would when she caught me playing in puddles after the rains. "Think of what you know already as those first dust-coated drops oozing together into a trickle, questing for a pathway across uneven ground. That's your understand of the humans' trade speech and the language they spoke in the village you were staying in. I've added more water or blood, if you prefer," he grinned wickedly at me, seizing on the image of a blood pool from somewhere in my mind and showing me a long feeler of red extending from it, spilling into a crack in the floor and picking up speed as it flowed into it, shining against the vivid white of the stone…

I felt myself sway in the saddle and then Firesworn's warm arm, steadying me, pulling me against his tall slender body, the press of his horse against mine pulling on my partially trapped leg until he'd lifted me all the way into his embrace. "I'm sorry. I should have stopped earlier," he breathed into my ear. "It's not much further now."

I let him hold me, not really caring the horn of his saddle was digging into my thigh, just content to trust him not to let me fall. My head fell against his shoulder and into the soft fall of his hair, ragged ponytail flipped down over his shoulder in an unintended pillow. I was content to remain there, though it made it harder to breath I was surrounded by his scent and it was enough to hold at bay that memory of blood on dust-white stone.

When I closed my eyes, there was Talindor giving me a rueful look. He blessedly didn't say or do anything else beyond walking over and stroking my hair, his expression changing to one of deep consideration. I caught his hand and gave it a quick squeeze of mingled annoyance and thanks before forcing myself to focus on the outer world again.

"Let me take my own horse back," I told Firesworn. "I'd rather not arrive in Goldshire looking like this."

"It would only strengthen their opinion of the sin'dorei," he agreed. "But are you steady enough to ride?"

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, sliding down from Woodslily to take the reins of Polo, my own dark gelding. I mounted with a reasonable amount of ease and settled myself back into the saddle. Snuggling in my mage's arms had been pleasant and pushed the bad memories away, but I wanted to look more the part of his bodyguard than his catamite when we arrived at the town.

We settled into the Lion's Pride Inn, one of the oldest establishments in the town and one that had kept more of its dignity and original purpose than many of the others. Brothels weren't allowed – legally – within the city itself, so they had grouped themselves in the nearby hamlet, giving it a dubious distinction.

Bobby and Stef hadn't put on an appearance yet, so we took a suite there for several days. Once we'd gotten our gear in and the horses settled – in the inn's stable this time, but with Rose and Thorn guarding them – Firesworn turned to me and pulled me into his arms. "I'm so sorry I had to take you in there, Sky."

I could feel the fine tremors running through his lean body and guessed it had been as hard, if not harder for him to ride into Stormwind and to walk into our embassy, not knowing who had been responsible for his internment in the Stockades. "I go where you go," I told him simply, resting my head once again on his ragged ponytail.

Later still, I sat on the couch in our sitting room, Firesworn lounging with his head on my legs as he had sometimes done, the rest of him a sprawl of long limbs, his legs propped on the opposite arm from the one I was snuggled against. Richelle was seated across from us, her feet up on a padded stool while she re-sewed a pair of loose buttons.

I missed the company of the dogs, but my mage's warm presence made up for their solid absence. "Where to next?" I asked him as I leaned back into the embrace of the padded leather.

"Once Bobby and Stef join us, on to Westfall," Firesworn said.

That seemed to be the signal for a gentle tapping at the suite's door. Fire rolled gracefully to his feet from the couch, but I managed to reach the door first. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Who do you think it would be?" came Bobby's muffled voice. "Room service?" There was a snort of laughter following that and a quick peek out the privacy port – nicely offset in the wall, rather than the door – let me confirm it was, indeed, our missing pair.

They slipped inside without wasted time once Firesworn opened the door, Bobby looking bulky and rough with beard stubble and a heavy sea captain's coat, Stef looking surprisingly young and underdressed.

Richelle chuckled. "Stef, you look like a street waif!"

"It's not like I haven't done it before," he shot back, heading for the unclaimed bedroom off our suite. "I hope you brought my traveling gear."

Bobby followed him until he passed the couch, whereupon he shed his captain's coat and about forty pounds in appearance as he dropped onto the leather and began tugging off clunky boots that clearly hadn't fit well. "Oh, my aching feet," he complained, rubbing them through a pair of worn woolen socks. "That was a new pair this morning. Damn Sevens, anyway!"

Richelle took pity on him, telling him, "Toss them over here and I'll add them to my mending."

"Don't fix them until he's told us if they found out anything," Firesworn suggested, brushing loose hair behind one of his ears.

_Better when you can understand?_ said Talindor, suddenly standing right behind me.

_Funnier. _

_Points for me_, he chuckled, before turning somber again. I knew he had noticed our mage's mutilated ears again.

"What happened, Bobby?" I asked.

"MacLachlin met an old acquaintance," Bobby said.

"We had to leave Stormwind rather quickly," Stef said. He'd pulled off the shirt he'd been wearing, which oddly enough made him look older and more mature.

"So, we're wanted men again? Already?"

"Not so much," said Bobby. "The one giving us trouble was revivable."

Stef gave him an astonished stare.

"What? I figured you'd be upset if I gutted him like a trout, so I just messed him up a bit and dropped him in the sewer. Figure the word will be out we just might have been working on something other than reducing the population of Stormwind nobles before he does too much barking."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"About that information you were searching for?" reminded Firesworn.

"We _do_ have people to find in Moonbrook." Bobby removed a knife from somewhere and began spinning it, all the while wiggling his stinky toes happily against the carpet. "Defias leadership took a bad hit recently, but there's still rebels in Westfall."

**Westfall**

The land looked sere under a bright blue sky and those few folks out trying to work patches of field wore wide-brimmed hats woven of straw or the wild grasses. The shanty homes I had seen on my escape from Stormwind were repeated here, small clusters or a few brave individual huts built in the shade of small groves of trees. There were larger, permanent looking buildings here and there, some burnt, others with a derelict look to them that reminded me of western Lordaeron and Hillsbrad.

The land was dry, not so much as the red rocks of Durotar, but surviving largely on the coastal fogs on one side and the Elwynn River on the other. Too little rain had fallen here, for too long. The breadbasket of the Alliance lands was turning into a dustbin, its people prematurely aged and grey from years of war with a more persistant foe than orcs. They stared at us suspiciously from their homes, no doubt assuming we were highriders working the roadways out from the capital; we were an odd enough mix, even if I was the only blatantly non-human among us.

Still, we traveled in relative peace until we reached the outskirts of Sentinel Hill, where there was work ongoing to turn the lone keep into a true castle. The area should have been more prosperous, and it was, somewhat, with long lines of wagons bringing stone from nearby quarries and men engaged in all manner of engineering and stone cuttery. But there seemed to be the same grey, weary look to most of the folk camped outside the walls.

As we drew nearer, it soon became clearer why; Sentinel Hill's growing castle and walls was being used almost exclusively by the largest armed camp I had seen outside of Northrend. The survivors of the Westfall Brigade were hard at work, and the supply train we had seen and avoided on our way here was now explained as the soldiers were out in force to keep the refugees from actually coming within the walls.

Firesworn had us pull up near one of the hard-scrabble farms and simply watch the activity at one of the gates. Bobby watched as well, disturbingly grim-faced, before he swung down and went to talk with some of the locals. Stef led us off the road toward the river and found us some cover to take our lunch in while we waited for the former Defias assassin to rejoin us.

He came back just as we were finishing our meal. "We stay off the high road after this," he said as he accepted a strip of jerky from Richelle. "They've been working on clearing out the Defias outposts in Westfall. I'd rather we didn't meet any of them, grand official pardons or not, they don't do us any good if we're dead before they take the time to read them."

"Is Moonbrook still independent?"

"It was as of this morning. Who knows what insanity we're riding into?" Bobby mounted up and turned a wicked, toothy smile on us. "Should make things interesting for us getting the information we want. Shall we ride?"

He touched his heels to his mare and set off at a good trot along the hedgerow, leading us by various wagonpaths and byways in a great loop around Sentinel Hill and the garrison there before swinging back across the High Road toward Moonbrook. There were a few more human camps, but the majority of the settlements, if you could call them such, here were populated with gnolls; the fel-warped relatives of the wolfblood humans more common to the thick forests of Duskwood. It took us several days to make the circuit and it was late afternoon on a bright day when we rode into the sprawling village. There were a great many people about the streets, a lively poultry market going to one side of the central square, between what had once been a good-sized church to the Light and an inn, both buildings still showing much of the ramshackle appearance of other houses we had seen in the district, but with new boards and shingles showing they were receiving some care.

The most prosperous and active building however, seemed to be the one immediately adjacent to what seemed to be a mine entrance. Bobby pulled up his mare and sat looking at it for several moments before turning to us with one of his bright, ingenious, and chilling smiles.

"Welcome to the Deadmines, messmates," he said.

Bobby and I were the ones who went in to "make inquiries," as Bobby put it, after a brief argument about who was going to stay with the horses. Firesworn and Richelle remained mounted, in case we needed to make an expeditious withdrawal.

The men playing cards inside their makeshift saloon didn't pause in their dealing, but it was obvious we were being given at least as careful study as they were giving their hands. Bobby walked over to the bar, put both his hands on the stained surface and gave the barkeep a long look.

The barkeep gave him an equally long appraisal before nodding. "Bobby Twoknives. Been awhile." He rummaged under the counter for a bit, bottles clinking before he pulled up a dust-covered one of deep blue glass. "Second glass for your leftside man?" he asked.

Before we could get beyond that, there was a noise from outside and by mutual consent, all of us made for the door to see what was going on. Firesworn was balanced in the stirrips on his rearing mount, loose hair floating around his head in a dry, sere wind of his own calling. "It's terribly dry here," he was saying mildly while his mare shuffled in a circle, forelegs held in a dangerous stillness, her steel-shod hooves an implicit warning to the group that had gathered. "I wouldn't want to have a misunderstanding about why I'm here."

As his horse dropped back to all fours I could see a shimmer in the air around him, one that extended to protect Richelle, the dogs, and our mounts as well. And presumably Stef, though I couldn't see him at all.

What I could see was the the two-headed flaming … puppy … that was suddenly next to them.

Both heads barked in chorus in what was either warning or enthusiastic greeting.

Greeting, I decided, as Firesworn called out joyfully, "Sear! You've grown!"

"It's just a fire mage," said someone in the crowd. "We've fought them before."

"It's a fire elementalist," corrected someone else in a warning tone. "Else they wouldn't have that dog. I'll handle this, Marko." The speaker was a young woman, probably younger than Richelle, but not so much as Giselle. She was backed by several men, but she was the one clearly in command.


End file.
